


Empty Crown (theres a war inside my head)

by SimpSupreme



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Dave | Technoblade-centric, Dehumanization, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Mob!Techno
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimpSupreme/pseuds/SimpSupreme
Summary: “Techno,” Schlatts voice is low, as if the words are private and for Techno’s ears alone despite the fact they are being projected across the audience, “…Techno I need you to take him out.”A Blade can be a weapon of justice or subjugation.It only depends on who is wielding it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 146
Kudos: 754
Collections: they own your head (but never your heart)





	1. got an empty crown

**Author's Note:**

> Id like to thank Feliadox for this incredible idea and letting me weave my own story around it as well as beta reading it for me.  
> Id also like to thank Jas, Exceed, Pointvee, Lee De Lionheart and everyone else on the 'lavender tea' server for writing with me, reading my snippets and stroking my ego. All the positive reinforcement really fed my desire to get this done and without them it probably wouldnt exist at all.

Techno would do anything for his family, for these people who took him in and accepted him, loved him even. Even after he left Philza’s home to strike out on his own he never forgot his family and returned often to visit them.

No matter the reputation he gained, or the wealth he accumulated in winnings Techno never forgot those who meant the most to him, always making sure to return to his family in his downtime. He made sure to visit them, even after Tommy and Wilbur ventured from their childhood home. He still followed them, aiding them in whatever way he could, or simply providing company when needed. 

He was happy to be needed.

So when a message appeared on his communicator from Wilbur asking, no, _pleading_ for his help.

What else could he do but answer that call?

* * *

There's so much noise, so much sound pounding away at his ears. His own heartbeat is the loudest sound of all, thundering away like the hoofbeats of a galloping horse. His gut twists and clenches, threatening to spit up the food in it and his lungs stutter, fumbling as if they’ve forgotten how to intake air. 

There is a chill in him, crawling through his very marrow. It starts at the base of his skull and blossoms through his brain, slowing down every coherent thought he has to his name. It freezes him in place as it trickles down his spine, dripping through veins at a pace too slow for the pounding of his heart. The tips of his fingers tingle, that chilled feeling you get when you handle snow without gloves. The cold freezing you to the point of burning. 

He doesn’t remember moving, not conscious of one foot set in front of the other as he walks from the crowd to the stage, taking a place between Schlatt and Quackity as he stares at Tubbo in the podium made into a cage. Tubbo is tense, afraid, but there's something like relief in his eyes and it strikes terror in Techno like a bolt of lightning cutting through the frost. 

Tubbo shouldn’t be relieved, he shouldn’t think he's safe as he meets Techno’s ruby red eyes. He shouldn’t think that anyone on this stage is on his side because Techno can't say for certain why he’s up here himself. Why, despite the turmoil within, his hands are steady and his face is smooth and without expression.

“Technoblade, I only call you in for special favors. We go way back right?” Techno’s gaze slides off Tubbo and onto Schlatt. Schlatt whose smile is so wide it looks almost painful as it splits across his cheeks. Schlatt whose voice is dripping with oily niceties that Techno can almost feel on his skin. Schlatt who only has madness and murder in his dark dark eyes.

He's not sure how to respond to that, his brain is still frozen, still drowning in frigid waters. He simply hums noncommittally feeling tension coil in his body. Part of him is screaming to do something, to _get off the fucking stage_.

But he can't make himself move.

Schlatt’s smile seems to impossibly widen, “This man needs a special favor” he coos the words, his hand lifting to rest delicately on his chest. A strange parody of innocence in the motion completely at odds with the expression on his face.

“Schlatt?” Both Tubbo and Quackity say the man’s name in sync. Their tones are unsettled, and Techno can see Quackity shift nervously in his peripheral. Schlatt ignores them however, his gaze fixed on Techno making him feel like a rabbit pinned beneath a predator. It is a feeling he is not used to and one he desperately wants to escape. He tries again to force his legs to move, to do something but again his body flatly refuses him.

“Techno,” Schlatts voice is low, as if the words are private and for Techno’s ears alone despite the fact they are being projected across the audience, “…Techno I need you to take him out.”

* * *

Techno wasn’t aware of the stir he caused when he was younger, he was too little to comprehend it and still too feral at the point to think beyond what he’d need to survive another day. The sudden influx of the strangers covered in metal, who had before seemed only to be there to mine gold, trade with the other piglins and explore the exceedingly dangerous fortresses, had no meaning beyond increasing the danger in his day to day life. 

It was only after he overheard a conversation that Philza had with a stranger in the market long after he had been adopted that he gained context.

A rare mob they referred to him as. Something unique and new in the world. Something new to hunt.

He’d asked Philza about it when they returned home, his voice subdued and quiet, filled with the knowledge of what people normally viewed mobs as. With questions of how he’d even made it to this house and the sense of safety he now enjoyed.

Philza’s answer was simple in the end. He’d heard of this new rare mob in the nether. A piglin that was smaller, faster, and smarter than any of the others. A piglin that did not trust or come close even when offered gold. A piglin that had killed many an adventurer, sending them abruptly back to their respawn beds. Philza was a survivor at heart, and he loved a good challenge, so he followed the rumors, hoping to find their root.

He’d expected a monster and what he’d found…

… was a child. 

Philza had worked with soft words and golden carrots, believing it was the glittering food that had drawn the little piglin to him. But Techno remembered otherwise. 

Remembered that it was the kindness in the older man's eyes, the soft warmth in his blue gaze that was a wordless promise in and of itself. Techno hadn’t fully understood common at that point in time and had no way of knowing what meaningless platitudes and promises Philza was offering him, all he knew was that this person was kind in a way Techno had never known. Warm in a way that didn’t sear and burn like everything in the nether tended to do. 

The food had also helped to be fair. 

Philza had taken Techno with him when he left the Nether, afraid that if he left him there, someone at some point would be successful in killing this “rare mob”. Techno hadn’t minded, willing to follow this kind man and his tasty carrots anywhere. 

That was the end of that. 

Wilbur had come along not long after, a few years older and full of himself, demanding the station of older brother immediately and leading Techno around on many an adventure. (Techno always managed to keep them out of too much trouble). Shortly after that came Tommy, small, imperious and territorial of Philza’s attention. 

Tommy and Wilbur had fought constantly at first, like a pair of angry cats. The house was always on edge, ready to burst into a hissing spitting fight when one looked at the other in the wrong way. While Philza tried to soothe Wilbur’s fear of being replaced, Techno found himself in charge of Tommy more often then not. He understood what Wilbur did not, that Tommy was afraid, afraid that such warm kindness could be taken from him at any second. That he could go back to a life of just surviving, not even truly living. Techno could relate and knew how best to quell that fear in Tommy and to help his little brother burn off all that fire that raged within his tiny body. 

Tommy never lost that bite, that short fuse and explosive energy. But Techno and, eventually Wilbur, wouldn’t have had it any other way.

* * *

“… to dinner?” Techno’s voice shook slightly, the jibe not falling off of his tongue as easily as it usually would. His gut twisted once more and his chest constricted, any air in his lungs forced out with those two words. His vision blurred and his hand clenched around his crossbow tightly. Schlatt's kindly expression curled, burning away like a wisp of paper to reveal something dark and hateful beneath. 

“NO NOT TO DINNER,” he yelled, “I WANT YOU TO KILL HIM.”

There was shouting, people in the audience were rising up and their voices were forming a roar now. Pleas for mercy mixed with shouts to end the traitor, to kill him. The exact words escaped Techno however, all he could hear was his own pulse in his ears. All he could feel was ice burning through his veins. 

“YOU MURDER HIM, RIGHT NOW, ON THIS STAGE” Schlatts voice cut through everything else, rising above the panic as if on wings. It was like Techno couldn’t hear anything but Schlatt.

He needed to escape.

“I WANT YOU TO MAKE IT HURT,” Quackity was chattering, adding to the noise, he seemed to be trying to reason with Schlatt. Technoblade couldn’t even comprehend it though, the only words he could hear were Schlatt’s. There was a firework in his crossbow.

He needed to get away.

He needed he needed he needed he neededheneeded _heneededneededneededneedneedneed--_

“Im sorry Tubbo,”

The explosion of fireworks was so loud that it made everything else so blessedly quiet.

* * *

“Can I go with you?” Tommy sat on the fence, legs swinging freely and heels bumping against the wood planks as he watched Techno practice. Firing arrow after arrow down the range and into the target. It was a good distance away and while all of his arrows sank into the target itself, they were scattered around the inner circles, not quite perfectly centered. Quiver empty Techno sat in the grass and unstrung the bow, running nimble fingers over the wood and the string itself, studying it for any flaws.

“No,” he answered quietly, rubbing the oiled string between his thumb and forefinger and frowning at the slight fraying he could detect. Most probably wouldn’t notice it, honestly it probably affected his shots in such a miniscule way. But he refused to accept that margin and instead cut the string entirely from his bow and stood to go find some more in a nearby chest.

“Why not?!” Tommy whined, kicking his feet against the planks harder. His face screwed up with anger and affront. 

“It’s a private duel Tommy,” Techno said patiently, popping open the chest and digging around inside of it. He lifted a few silken threads to eye level and studied each one for imperfections.

“I’ve gone to your tournaments before! I’ve even competed in the MCC now!” Techno sighed and turned around, a new glittering thread in hand as he walked back across the grass to his unstrung bow. He crouched down and restrung the bow with its new thread, inspecting it once more with careful consideration.

“No one is going to see this duel Tommy. No one but Mr. Beast. He asked that it be a private affair and both Dream and I agreed.” He finally looked up at his younger brother who huffed and crossed his arms angrily.

“That’s stupid its going to be one of greatest fights of the century and no one even gets to go watch,” Tommy grumped. Techno couldn’t restrain the low chuckle that left him. He stood and stepped closer, reaching out to ruffle Tommy’s short blonde hair. The younger boy yelped loudly, ducking to avoid the hand and almost unseating himself from the fence. His arms and legs windmilling as he flailed for balance.

“Think of it like this, you get to learn the outcome before anyone else AND you get a play by play from yours truly.” Techno smiled, grabbing Tommy’s shoulder to steady him. The boy huffed and shoved him away, but the disgruntled expression on his face was replaced with a reluctant smile. 

“Promise?” he asked and Techno smiled.

“Of course,” he responded. Then he hefted the bow up a little. “Now why don’t you help me get all my weapons ready. After all, this is the infamous Dream I’m fighting. I don’t want anything failing on me in the middle of the duel now do I?”

“No way,” Tommy grinned, a wide smile full of teeth and challenge, he pushed off the fence eagerly, “You're gonna kick Dreams scrawny motherfucking ass!”

Techno threw back his head and howled with laughter.

* * *

“Watch out Technoblade, Tommy’s angry with you,” Wilbur’s smile was little more than a wicked gash across his face. A terrible kind of glee lurking in his eyes as he scaled down the rocky wall of the ravine to the path Techno stood on. Techno forced an upward quirk of his lips, trying to appear as if everything had gone to plan and not give away the deeply unsettled feeling that still lurked in his chest. 

“Oh?” he asked, forcing lightness to his tone as he rounded the bend and came face to face with Tommy’s sword. His younger brother lifted the weapon, its sharpened tip just centimeters from Techno’s exposed throat. He swallowed and looked over his wide nose at his brother, then movement behind Tommy caught his gaze.

Tubbo had a crossbow in hand but Techno knew that even at this short range he likely wouldn’t be able to hit him, his hands were shaking too badly. Techno couldn’t help but feel sick at the observation and at the state of what little skin was exposed on Tommy’s friend. Techno could see dapples of dark angry red skin on Tubbos hands and neck, but most alarming was a bloom of scar tissue across his left eye. The burn circled his eye and across his rounded cheeks, the skin rough and wrinkled looking and just a bit too shiny under the lantern light. His eyes had a haunted and hunted look to them and it only served to make Techno even uncomfortable. The stark fear in his eyes made Techno feel even worse than the sword at his throat.

“Why did you kill him Techno?” Tommy's voice was flat, quiet even. That brought Techno’s eyes back to him, the low tone he was using was just so… so unlike Tommy. Tommy was like a firework, he was loud and bright. He exploded and the sparks of his emotion rained on everyone around him. He was infectious and righteous and a force of nature unto himself. His emotions were a tornado that roared out of him at high volume, no matter what he was feeling.

Tommy was never quiet.

“I was under peer pressure,” the words spilled from Techno’s lips thoughtlessly. It was clear that Tommy wasn’t going to just accept that excuse. The low simmering rage in his eyes caught fire and blazed bright blue. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screamed and Techno felt some tension slide from his shoulders. At least he was yelling now. But Techno also didn’t have an answer for him. He couldn’t even begin to tell Tommy what had happened up on that stage. Partially because of his own confusion but mostly… mostly because I had an idea.

Techno had an idea of what might have happened up there but it was one he didn’t want to entertain, one he prayed he was wrong about.

“A lot of things,” he mumbled, shrinking into the mantle of white fur that wrapped around his shoulders. Instead of comforting softness he found spikes of hardened fur dig into his neck and cheeks. The fur was splattered with blood, Quackity’s blood, Schlatt’s blood…

Tubbo’s blood.

“You killed Tubbo Technoblade! You murdered him!” Tommy stepped closer, his sword dropping to his hip as he pressed into Techno’s space causing the much taller man to twitch back slightly. 

“Well I think it was all a mistake and I forgive Techno,” Wilburs arms spread magnanimously, one dropping to wrap around Technos shoulders. It was a welcome weight even if the mania in his eyes was far to reminiscent of the madness Techno had glimpsed in Schlatts gaze. Rage curled Tommy’s face into an ugly mask as he glared at the two of them through slitted eyes.

“Well I don’t! I don’t fucking forgive him!” Tommy yelled, gesturing angrily with his sword again. Techno felt Wilbur’s arm tense around his neck. The dark haired man leaned forward slightly, head tilted to the side.

“Then what do you want Tommy?” his voice was low and sibilant.

“I…” Tommy fumbled for a moment before regaining momentum “I want him to leave. I Want you to get the hell out of here Techno!”

“You really think you can win this fight without me Tommy?” Techno fired back defensively. Damn both of them for cornering him like this. For yelling and screaming at him. He just wanted to take a bath and sleep for an entire day and forget this awful nightmare of an experience. He hadn’t meant to kill Tubbo, hadn’t wanted to do it. It had happened though and now they had to fucking move past it and keep planning, keep figuring out what they were going to do to reclaim L’manburg.

“Wait wait Tommy, hold on,” Wilber intercedes, his arm sliding from around Techno’s shoulders as he raised his hands between the two of them, “I want to hear what Tubbo has to say.”

The boy in question tensed, his grip on the crossbow going white knuckled and the fine tremble becoming more pronounced. He curled in on himself as Wilbur slid away from Tommy and leaned over Tubbo, his smile wicked and curved. Techno couldn’t help but tense, suddenly feeling like he needed to protect the small blonde boy from Wilbur, an unprecedented feeling.

“Come on Tubbo, tell us how you’re feeling?” He circled Tubbo like a predator, slow and prowling. Then he settled behind him, hands set on his shoulders and head close to his ears. “Tell me Tubbo, do you hate him? Do you Hate Technoblade right now?”

“I…” Tubbo’s voice rattled, it was high pitched and terrified and Techno took an automatic step forward, only to find Tommy’s blade at his throat again.

“He **_murdered_ ** you Tubbo. He killed you in front of everyone!” Tommy exclaimed and Tubbo flinched, shoulders curling forward even more and he shook. Wilbur only smiled, thumbs rubbing against Tubbo’s shoulders soothingly. The silence hung for a moment, suspended in the air like a spider on a thread, delicate and just waiting to snap.

“y-yeah,” his voice was so quiet and so damning, “yeah I… I kinda do.”

“Y-you killed me,” he spit out the words, finally meeting Techno’s gaze. 

“You said you were on our SIDE!” Tommy chimed in, and Techno’s eyes jumped between them. Wilbur jumped up, hands clapping together loudly causing all there to flinch.

“I know how we can solve this!” he announced, then his face darkened “Why don’t you two settle your differences in the Pit.” 

Techno felt his stomach fall out and he could restrain the incredulous look he shot at Wilbur. Why was his brother even encouraging this? Why did he want them to fight? What was wrong with him?

Tommy didn’t seem to have any such compunctions as he shoved past Techno and the silently watching Niki, stalking in the direction of the Pit. Techno felt frozen, glancing between Tubbo, Niki and Wilbur in the hope for some sort of guidance. An answer that wasn’t this. But Tubbo avoided eye contact and Niki’s eyes narrowed when he met her gaze. Wilbur stepped forward and placed a hand on Techno’s back propelling him inexorably towards the Pit. The prospect of a fight had Techno sinking into that mindset he always used when battling. The emptying of superfluous thoughts, the focusing on the task at hand. There was nothing else but the fight itself, nothing else but win or lose now. 

He dropped down the ledge into the fighting Pit, slowly unbuckling his armor and shedding it only to floor. The enchanted Netherite fell with a series of loud echoing clangs, each one causing Tommy to tense in front of him. Then he stepped away from the armor, falling into a relaxed position arms loose and swinging by his sides. 

“Tommy-“ he tried one last time to head off this fight, to use the words he was so bad at cultivating to reach through his brother's anger. But Tommy was having none of it.

“You killed Tubbo,” he growled, hands clenched into fists, “You killed my right hand man.”

“You betrayed us Techno.”

His heart felt pierced by those words and it took all he had in him to remain outwardly calm and collected. Sadness welled up in him but it wasn’t just that. No, a deep and dark rage also festered at those words. How dare he? How dare Tommy judge him? He didn’t fucking understand, he didn’t fucking understand what had happened to Techno the way he still felt violated as the body hed trusted to carry him through numerous fights moved without his own permission and betrayed him. 

Tommy’s fist collided with Techno’s snout and he reeled back, recoiling in pain, hands lifting to clutch at his injured face. He blinked in surprise and when he looked up he saw that surprise reflected in Tommy’s own gaze. His brother's eyes looked at the blood smeared across his knuckles with a complete lack of comprehension, like he couldn’t believe he’d draw first blood in this fight. Techno couldn’t quite believe it either. 

He straightened, hands falling to his sides and snorted angrily. Blood spewed in a fine rosy mist from his nostrils as he did so, the pain already beginning to fade from the forefront of his mind. Simply becoming an absent observation of injury, data collected and stored to be analyzed at a later date when the fight was over. He clenched his fists.

And finally he fucking moved.

Fighting was like a dance, except instead of trying to step closer the dance partners were spinning away and towards the end of it as fast as they could. Tommy had taken the first step of their dance and now Techno had the follow through.

He closed the gap between them, fists raised in a simple boxers defense. The sharp one two was a simple step and one he'd used when sparring with Tommy before. The first one hit his shoulder solidly but he lifted his hands to block the second one, arms trembling under the impact. Techno wasted no time at all, using the unburned momentum of his swing to twist his body and bring his knee solidly into his opponent's stomach. The wretch of air forced bluntly from lungs fell on deaf ears as Techno completed his spin with another fist raised. 

The blonde he was fighting was quick, agile, and he ducked, rolling onto his shoulder away from Techno and putting him at his back. His fists jabbed out, catching Techno in the kidneys twice. He batted away the sensation of pain like it was a particularly annoying fly, spinning and kicking fluidly. The boy's knee made a harsh crunch when it met his foot and he cried in pain but remained standing. Techno could admire that.

The boy, however, was going to lose, it was inevitable. Dodging and weaving was all well and good but Techno has several inches of height on him and thus a greater reach. It was far easier for him to land a hit and remain out of striking range than it was for the boy. He noted with great detachment that the injury to his knee only seemed to incense his opponent and his next move was a wild haymaker, more emotion than discipline in it.

Techno had never been one to past up such an opening before and he wasn’t now. He ducked beneath the swinging arms and rammed his shoulder into the boy's gut, the force of it sending him flying back against the rough rocky wall of the Pit. His head cracked against the stone satisfyingly and in that moment Techno knew this fight was over.

He closed on his dazed opponent and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, spinning them both around and throwing him hard to the solid floor. The boy still tried to stand so Techno pinned him with his body weight and began to rain down the blows. 

The only sound was his heartbeat, slow and steady in his ears, perfectly in sink with the rise and fall of his fists on his victims face. Blood splashed and Techno felt his lips quirk just a little. That same satisfaction he always had when he won a fight. He would win, he always won, he never died.

Blood for the Blood god.

“STOP”

The scream ruptured his concentration, piercing the quiet like an arrow. Techno looked up to assess this new combatant and found a blonde boy with small horns peaking through the fluff of his pale gold hair. His blue eyes were wide and terrified and a starburst of a scar stretched across the left side of his face. He looked terrified, but not in a way Techno was used to seeing his opponents look. No he seemed scared not for himself. In fact he took another step forward, weapon raised in a surprisingly steady grip, his face grim with its determination. 

“I forgive you Techno,” he shouted, voice echoing strangely off the walls and in Techno’s ears.

“I forgive you, so please. Please just stop this!” Techno watched as this boy's eyes shone, tears threatening to overflow. Then his gaze looked down and he felt sick and cold.

Tommy looked like a wreck, his nose was bleeding profusely and his lip was split. One of his eyes was already beginning to swell and darken, promising a truly spectacular black eye the next day. His eyes were unfocused and he lay limp beneath Techno. Techno who was his brother, who had been by his side through thick and thin growing up. 

Techno who had his blood on his knuckles.

Techno stood abruptly, backpedaling away from Tommy as swiftly as he dared. His hands were still clenched into fists but now they trembled. He hid the motions by bending down to retrieve his armor and his cloak from the floor. Trying to mask the horror he felt rising like bile in his throat. 

His body also decided that now was the time to remind him of his injuries. His snout hurt something fierce and was starting to make his eyes water. Each breath through his nose came with a plume of misted blood spraying everywhere and over everything. His side also hurt, bending and twisting his torso too quickly caused an electric crackle of pain to shoot up his side. Only years of practice kept him from visibly reacting to anything around him. The desperation to find somewhere to hole up and hide was fiercer now than ever before.

He turned and clambered up the wall to exit the Pit. Behind him Tubbo had dropped his crossbow and was kneeling beside Tommy, supporting him as he sat up unsteadily. Niki brushed past him, face dark and angry, potion in hand, moving to help the two boys sitting on the floor. Techno reached the lip and looked over at his other brother, at Wilbur who had goaded both of them into the fight.

“Did you get what you wanted? Are you satisfied?” The question was low and quiet, too quiet for the others to hear. Wilbur only smiled, a sly and knowing curve to it.

“Go rest up Techno, L’manberg still stands so we still have work to do.” Was his only response and he turned his gaze back to the Pit, clearly dismissing Techno. Hurt swelled in his chest, a deep ache like he’d been stabbed. Wilbur’s back hurt more than any of Tommy’s words or fists.

Techno turned and fled Pogtopia, returning to the secret base he’d built to hide the weapons and armor he'd been crafting to help the rebellion. His brothers' rebellion.

As he flopped onto his bed, regeneration potion in hand he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of fear clutch at his heart, an echo of that chill he'd felt on the stage. He’d been happy to help his brothers, he loved them more than anything else in the entire world. 

But as he drifted off to a restless sleep with Schlatt’s dark dark eyes swirling in his vision and Wilburs wicked smirk he suddenly wished to be anywhere but in the Dream SMP.

* * *

There is something that should be clarified, and in order to do so we need to think about the beginnings of this world.

Specifically with its creator, Mojang.

Mojang created the world from nothing, formed the dirt, the stone, the water and the sky from pure aether. He planted into the ground the greenery of grass and tall trees and then spread bursts of color over the land in the form of flowers. 

When that was done he settled back to admire his creation but after a time found himself bored with it. He decided to try his hand at life and began to create the first living things. Cows, pigs, sheep and chickens were among the first creatures to set foot on the world and for a time Mojang was happy. 

He moved on to create exotic landscapes, massive mountains and deep seas that he filled with fish and squid. He dug beneath the ground to create intricate caves and molded the land to suit whatever aesthetic he felt inclined towards. 

But as time passed he found once again that his creation was lacking. The creatures were thriving, and they did enjoy the land but they could not appreciate it as Mojang did. Besides that he found he desired companionship. He desired someone who would look at all he created and understand the thought that had to go into it, and revel in that thought. He wanted someone who would also be able to create alongside him, forge their own art from the land.

No one is entirely sure where the first Player came from, only that their first steps in Mojang’s world changed everything.

They were the companion Mojang sought. They broke the trees and fashioned the wood into tools and houses, they carved the stone in the same way to form tougher tools and stronger buildings. They asked Mojang for food so he pointed to the numerous cows and pigs and fish and bid them hunt. So they did, crafting swords from stone and arrows from flint and feather. Mojang turned to his caves and seeded the ground with minerals and ores, glittering and beautiful. He sat back and watched as the Player dug deep deep beneath the dirt, hauling the treasures he’d hidden to the surface to further decorate their home. 

When they asked for a way to tell the passage of time Mojang set the sun to rise and fall, lightening and darkening the sky in turn.

When they asked for something besides meat Mojang twisted the plants to create wheat and beets and carrots. He bade the trees to bear ripe red fruits and even placed small fungi that could be eaten in the caves underground.

When they asked for quicker transport across the land so they could better see all that Mojang had created he made for them the Horse. 

When they asked for companionship he created cats, wolves and birds, all of which could be tamed and would be happy to join the Player on their adventures.

When they asked for a challenge he created pools of liquid hot stone and biomes where the temperature would bite into the Player who was unprepared. He made storms that caused the trees to tremble and the waters to rise.

When they begrieved being the only explorer Mojang attempted to recreate them and created Villagers. 

Time passed and the player built and built and built. They built elaborate temples, castles that scraped the sky itself, cities that sprawled the deepest trenches of the ocean and homes that were nestled in the dark hearts of forests. 

They would travel to a new and untouched part of Mojang’s endless realm and stop only long enough to finish some new build and ransack the earth for its treasures before moving on to some other great vista. 

Pleased with all he had built and with his companion in the world Mojang decided to rest. He lay down beneath the hills he'd created and finally slept after what felt like millenia.

He left the Player alone in the world.

This was a mistake, the Player had been alone except for Mojang for so very long. They had traveled so far, built so much, explored every nook and cranny the world had to offer. When Mojang lay down to rest the endless expansion of the world ended and the Player finally reached the end of the world. With only void in front of them and the carefully explored world behind them the Player tried to find something new to burn their endless energy. But their increasingly complex builds did not hold their attention like they once had. The challenges of weather and lava no longer held danger for them. Slowly, much like Mojang had, their craving for more complex companionship grew.

Mojang did not awake when they dug through the dirt and stone to his resting place. 

He did not wake when they stole a piece of him and carried it back to the surface. 

He did not wake when they used the fragment to cast spells, winding from their own blood and old bones beings built in their image. 

He did not wake when they poisoned entire villages, turning them violent and grey.

He only woke when their mastery of the fragment was no longer complete enough for them and they consumed it, imbuing their very essence into it. Mojang awakened as the very fabric of his world ripped open, something as fiery as the Player who created it bursting into being.

He came roaring from his sleep filled with anger and found his peaceful world shattered. The Player had built armies of undead. Zombies that groaned and Skeletons held together only by the force of the spells cast over them. He found once peaceful villagers roaming the countryside, hunting down their erstwhile brethren. He found a portal of obsidian and purple sitting in a field and the Player glowing with power and triumph standing outside of it, gleeful at this new creation, this new world they alone had built.

Furious Mojang descended on them, demanding explanation. But the Players smile was wicked, drunk on the power they had stolen and Mojang realized the threat they posed to his world. 

He reached out and ripped from them the greatest gift he'd ever bestowed. 

He took away their ability to respawn.

Whenever the Player fell too far, swam too deep or slipped into lava they were sheltered from the pain of death and simply awoke wherever last they had slept. It meant they could explore without fear and they could live alongside the eternal Mojang. 

But with a single swoop he tore that gift from them and cast them backwards into the newly birthed portal. With a snap he shut it behind them, sealing them away for all time.

He thought that was the end of it, that the danger was past. He grieved for a lost friend but set about cleansing the world of the monsters they’d created.

There is something important to note however, Mojang did not create the Player. They came into his world from some other plain, their origins unknown. Mojang thought they were the only one.

He was wrong.

The story from here is long. It covers Mojang’s rage at the new players within his world and how he created even more hostile mobs to drive them away, only to watch them fight for a foothold in this world. It covers how he made the mobs allergic to the sun and further blessed the new players with magic, magic enough to enchant weapons and tools and build golems. It covers how those new players found their way into the nether, unleashing the horrors of the first Player. How they used their gifts to cast the Player from even their own realm. 

How Mojang left the world, but blessed a few specific players to guide and create in his stead, the very first Admins.

The stories of the world are long and numerous, but we need to understand the roots to understand the current predicament. You see when the Player stole a piece of Mojang and consumed it they became like a god, able to create from nothing entire worlds. 

The Admins Mojang created looked out for his world, then spawned their own worlds with their own wide vistas for Players to explore and create in. Much like Mojang had been they owned the worlds they created and could manipulate them, changing everything in them. The only beings immune to the power of the Admins was the players themselves. 

The Mobs were not above this control.

Every Mob is a product of its world and thus of the Admin of that world and as such when their Admin gives an order a Mob has no other choice but to follow through. Their free will ultimately belongs to the Admin, who can snatch it away with words and intent. This doesn’t normally matter since a great many mobs are mindless anyway, but sometimes, in some rare moments for reasons unknown to anyone, a Mob becomes more.

These are called Player Mobs, intelligent and capable of wielding weapons and building in the same way most players do, they are unique in one important aspect. Like their mindless brethren they are subject to the whims of their world owner. An order given by the Admin of their world is an order they are forced to follow.

Many Player mobs flee their birth worlds when they gain the sentience to do so, recognizing the danger they are in. They never experience the thievery of their autonomy, they never know the betrayal of their body.

Not all are so lucky. 

As Techno lays in his bed in a bunker deep beneath a lake, fighting to get a restful sleep, his mind is constantly dragging these stories to the forefront. As soon as he drifts away he dreams of dark near black eyes framed by the curls of horn and a knowing smirk. Words fall from the man's lips and again and again Techno raises his crossbow and fires into the soft body of Tubbo, of Tommy, of Wilbur. 

He can do nothing to stop the movement, to prevent their deaths. He is trapped in his own mind, condemned to watch them die by his hand over and over again. Each time they perish he jerks awake, and each time he awakens the stories creep forward, reminding him of what happened and why it happened. 

Afterall Techno, despite years growing up around players, of living the life of a player…

Is still a mob.

And he cannot escape the curse that brings with it. 

  
  



	2. mind games

To say things were tense in the days following the Festival was the understatement of the century. Pogtopia was a place of heavy silence most of the time, all of its residents prowling like skittish cats around each other.

Techno spent most of his time in his private base or out scouring the world for resources to continue to fund the rebellion. If the Festival had shown him anything, it was that they were _severely_ outmanned and if they were going to have any sort of hope of victory they would need some serious fucking firepower on their side.

Besides, if he was deep underground mining diamonds or trawling the Nether for ancient debris then he couldn’t see Tommy. Tommy, whose glare was pure acid whenever he saw Techno, harsh enough to practically melt the flesh from his bones. Tommy who spoke only short, curt sentences all underscored with a heavy angry growl. He didn’t seem to work to avoid Techno persay, but he certainly didn’t linger in his presence.

By contrast Wilbur seemed to be in high spirits these days, jovial and bouncy. He was gone often as well. When he was around he patted Techno on the shoulder, or wrapped an arm around him and drew him in close to conspire. Wilbur talked endlessly of his trips to spy in Manberg and its residents as well as his visits to Dream to plan. The unsettling madness that Techno had seen the night of the Festival seemed to have fled, and while Wilburs talks of blowing up everything he'd worked so hard to build if they couldn’t win the fight weren’t reassuring… Techno was willing to let it slide.

He didn’t want another brother angry and avoiding him.

Only three days after the Festival, Techno walked into the ravine, arms laden with potions and enchanted books for his brothers' personal items. He was cracking open a chest to dump the items in when a small squeak made him look up.

He caught sight of a booted heel disappearing around a corner but he didn’t need to see its owner to know who it belonged to. His shoulders slumped and the items fell into the chest haphazardly as all energy drained from him.

While Wilbur seemed pleased with all that had transpired and Tommy was obviously upset, it was Tubbo who had practically been a ghost. The ravine was not that large, and yet somehow Tubbo had managed to avoid seeing or being seen by Techno this entire time. A part of Techno ached at the thought, the fear that must stalk his younger brother's friend. 

A fear Techno had placed in Tubbo himself.

Techno found he still had nightmares about that night, murdering Tubbo over and over and over again. In the dreams he was often outside of his body, watching it as if it belonged to someone else. Watching as it lifted the crossbow, fireworks loaded and fired into Tubbo’s helpless form, face blank and unfeeling. All the while Schlatt laughed, his dark eyes spinning with madness and murderous glee, his smile stretching unnaturally to his ears.

Techno shuddered as the memories started to crawl around his brain, his heartrate picking up even though he was safe here, without danger. He slammed the chest shut with a loud bang and instead turned to the other chests, opening and rummaging through them until he found a diamond axe that probably belonged to one of his brothers.

Picking it up he pressed a thumb to its nicked uneven edge and sighed heavily at finding it blunt. His brothers should know to take better care of their weapons and tools, especially those made of diamond. 

_Diamonds were still hard to find damnit_. 

With fond exasperation Techno took out a whetstone and settled himself on some nearby stairs to grind the edge of the axe back into shape.

The sound of stone on diamond was the only thing in the ravine beyond the gentle crackle of the lamps and torches that illuminated it. As the rhythmic sound and motion sunk into his body Techno found himself turning toward inward contemplation, almost meditative. He contemplated the battle ahead and most of all he contemplated his foes.

Especially the one he had labeled the greatest threat from day one.

 _Dream_.

Technoblade was a Mob Player and while he had largely been raised by Players, he still had a natural distrust of Admins. It was almost a survival instinct where his kind were concerned. Admins were powerful beyond anything normal Players could hope to become. Their ability to summon endless resources, fly without the use of elytra or potions and, most notably, control _every aspect of their worlds_ set them in a league all their own. 

When it came to fighting an Admin on their own terf, your best bet was to outsmart them because it was almost impossible to outgun them.

That was what made Dream such a threat however. He was intelligent and a planner. A powerful fighter without using any of his admin skills at all. 

Techno had fought him before. Both of them had become big names in tournaments across many worlds. Techno was the Blood God and Dream had earned the name Speedrunner. Mr. Beast, a powerful and rich Admin of a very large world, had offered a massive sum of money if the two of them would duel in a private arena on his world. Both had accepted, although Techno had had his own reservations.

The duel had gone on for ten rounds. Techno won six of them, just barely edging Dream out. It was close, the closest fight Techno has ever had and Dream hadn’t been using his abilities. He was on a world not his own and Mr. Beast was watching them both very carefully for foul play.

Techno had always said that you could learn a lot about someone from fighting them and he’d learned a lot about Dream in that fight. Dream planned, he was always thinking five steps ahead of where he currently was, working to drive his opponents into a position that was most advantageous for him. Dream was quick, he was clever and he was good with his weapons. His main downfall had been that he was cocky. God powers tended to do that to a person in Techno’s opinion. 

Dream had gone into the fight overconfident and it had caused him to lose.

But when Techno had next seen Dream on the SMP he knew that confidence was not a weakness he would be able to exploit again. Dream had come to Pogtopia to find Wilbur, more honeyed words dripping from his lips. But those words had shriveled up and turned to dust when Techno had stepped from the shadows and up to his brother’s shoulder, gaze flat and without affect.

Dream may wear a mask to make himself more inscrutable but his body spoke loud enough. His shoulders had drawn up around his ears subtly, a sign of defensiveness, and when he’d spoken there was an honest note of surprise to his tone. Dream had not expected Techno’s presence and his being here threw a wrench in whatever plans Dream had laid for Wilbur and Tommy.

Techno snorted and lifted the stone from his axe. He tested the edge again and this time it only took slight pressure to bring blood to the surface of the digit. He tucked it into his mouth around his tusks, sucking the coppery tang off his finger. The taste of blood was a familiar one and despite himself he smiled softly, biting down on the pad of his thumb reveling in the sting.

Dream had no idea the danger he was courting in fucking with the brothers of Technoblade. He had no idea the wrath he was inviting upon his own head. Techno would not stand idly by as Dream pulled at Wilbur and Tommy’s strings, forcing them to dance to a tune only he knew. 

Techno would raze the entire server to the ground before he allowed Dream to harm a hair on either of their heads.

Techno set the axe against his knee again and began to grind the edge with his stone some more. The diamond axe would need a razor fine edge if it was going to cleave open Dream’s netherite helmet and let his nefarious plans run onto the floor like egg yolk.

The satisfied warmth of that thought suddenly curled and turned to frost, blooming from the back of his skull and sinking its fangs into his brain.

Techno let out a choked off cry and that was all he got as the cold swept through him like an inescapable tide. It was the same freeze that he’d felt while standing on that stage during the Festival, except this time it was even faster, even more thorough.

The axe slid from nerveless fingers and his hands jerked and twitched, clawing at the air. His spine arched and his head fell back as his mouth gaped, a scream trying to force its way out of his frozen throat as cold burned through him. There was no air in his lungs to scream with however and he felt like he was drowning in arctic waters, the warmth of Pogtopia lost as the sensation wrapped iron bands around his heart.

_Come to me._

He stood abruptly, the diamond axe and whetstone falling with a clatter to the floor. Heedless he stepped over them and began to sweep towards the staircase, cloak swirling like a cloud of blood behind him. He didn’t know where exactly he was going but that didn’t seem to matter. A line had anchored itself behind his lungs and it tugged him along an invisible path to his destination.

He turned a corner and his possessed stride faltered, coming to a halt.

Tubbo stood at the base of the stairs, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. He was wearing a yellow and brown striped sweater with blue overalls. His blonde hair had been brushed in an attempt to hide the starburst scars across the left side of his face, it didn’t really succeed. This was the first time Technoblade had seen Tubbo since the festival and for a moment he felt the cold abate just a little. Like his hands had breached the surface of the frigid pool he was drowning in and were clawing at the air for purchase.

Tommy appeared as abruptly as Tubbo had, blue eyes burning with hate behind his blonde fringe. He took Tubbos arm and gently steered him away into a tunnel until the two were out of sight.

Not a word was spoken.

_NOW_

His hands sunk back beneath the cold waves, his sense of up and down was destroyed. He was surrounded in frigid cold waters and he was drowning.

His mind blurred, mostly along for the ride as his body moved unerringly back to the surface and began to travel back the L’manberg. The slide of water over his skin as he glided up the river while holding onto his trident felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. Everything felt wrapped in wool, even as he slaughtered mobs who stepped into his path, groaning mindlessly in an attempt to stop him from reaching his goal.

The run was shockingly quick considering how far from L’Manberg Pogtopia was, and for a moment he wondered how unreliable his memory was of the trip here.

_Be quiet, be stealthy, do not be seen._

He shuddered at the new orders that settled like snow over his shoulders forcing him into a crouch with their weight alone.

He clung to the shadows, slipping through the sleeping city like a wraith. His cloak was but a whisper over the grass and he kept to the dirt to keep the clack of his hooves on wood and stone to a minimum. He avoided the light of the torches and lanterns. A part of him smirked bitterly at the irony of that, like he was any normal mindless mob.

Soon enough that sharp tugging behind his lungs grew more insistent. He looked up at the massive building he was approaching and recognized it as the White House, the place from which the president and his cabinet oversaw the city. Internally he cringed as his body crept around the perimeter of the building until it found an unlocked back door to enter through. He slipped inside and followed that tugging until he came to a door. Something cold forced him to stop with his hand on the door, pausing him before he opened it. Standing there he could hear voices inside, two of them.

It was definitely Schlatt and Quackity, the latters voice tense and angry. He pressed his ear to the heavy oak door, hoping to make out their words but the wood was too thick. He could only hear the tone of the conversation.

Quackity was angry, tense, afraid. He was arguing something but his voice was still quiet, not quite a shout. Not yet.

In contrast Schlatt’s words audibly slurred even through the door, drawing out and trailing off far too often for sobriety. He sounded so smug that Techno could envision his smirk through the door. The sound of it summoned a hot streak of anger in him, but it guttered and died before it could catch in the face of the freeze that rippled through his bones.

Finally, after standing stock still, there was a loud shout and a slamming door signaling the end of the argument. The tug in his chest gave an insistent yank, causing him to stumble against the door with a gasp. He opened it sharply and entered into the room beyond.

It was luxurious to say the least. The floor was covered in a rich red carpet with a ring of gold around the edge of the room. There were no torches here, instead glowstone was set into the walls and a chandelier of hanging lanterns adorned the middle of the room. The walls were made of polished stone bricks and had bookshelves set at intervals around the room containing various legal documents regarding Manberg. Finally there was a massive dark oak desk set against a wall of windows at the far end of the room. Its surface shone like polished crystal, parts of it edged in real gold. It was a show of wealth and power, massive, sturdy and luxurious.

Techno hated this desk on principle.

He realized suddenly that he was avoiding confrontation. That in his study of the desk he was avoiding looking at the person who owned it. The person who was flexing their wealth and power through the desk and the room surrounding it.

"Ah Technoblade. I'm so... _pleased_ you decided to come," Techno shuddered against his will but steeled himself and met the dark eyes that had haunted his dreams the past few days.

"Schlatt," he grunted, unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Schlatt was sitting in a red velvet chair behind his desk and smirked at his name, his eyes glittering with mirth. He picked up a glass filled with a clear fluid and took a long sip.

"Well now don't be a stranger," he purred, his smile knife-like, " **_Come here_ **."

The cold returned and Techno found himself moving before he even registered the words. 

He crossed the plush carpet in a few short strides, moving until he stood directly in front of Schlatt’s desk. A pulse of terror writhed in his gut but he buried it deep deep down. He didn't need fear right now, it wouldn't help him here.

"HA," Schlatt’s laugh made Techno jerk in surprise. He stood, dragging his glass across the shiny surface of his desk leaving behind a streak of condensation. The rumble of it filled the room as Schlatt circled the desk so he was on the same side as Techno. His steps were slow and deliberate, almost predatory despite the visible drunken swaying. He moved with as much oily confidence as a serpent, one that was poised to strike at some juicy, _helpless_ prey it had found.

"I have to say, I knew that control over Mobs by Admins was complete but still..." his voice trailed off teasingly and Techno felt his shoulders hunch, "I didn't think that my order would work. That you would follow through without even being here to hear it spoken."

He took another drink and Techno glared at him, _murder_ in his ruby eyes.

"You really don't have a choice do you? You're helpless, a puppet to my whims," Techno snarled and between one second and the next summoned his sword to his hand. He swung, twisting his body to put all his weight behind the strike, so that he could cleave the bastard's head from his body in one clean blow. The glass was traveling to Schlatt’s mouth again, his lips were flattening with his displeasure, the mirth darkening into something worse.

**_"Stop"_ **

Techno froze, blade inches from Schlatt’s pale exposed throat. The man's head twisted, knocking his curled horns against the netherite blade almost playfully. He took a sip.

**_"Drop it"_ **

His fingers twitched in a pantomime of resistance but uncurled and allowed the blade to fall to the floor, bouncing off of Schlatt’s shoulder and thumping to the carpeted floor.

**_"Kneel"_ **

There was malice in the last words, harsh and snarling. Techno felt like the wind was punched out of him as he dropped to his knees, crumpling into the lush carpet like a doll with its strings cut.

**_"Stay"_ **

Techno grit his teeth, his body trembling as he tried to force it to move, to _do something_ . He was not a _dog_ to be told to _sit_ and _stay_.

Schlatt’s face had creased, his brow dipping low casting a pall across his eyes. He swirled the remaining liquid in his glass before tilting his head back and downing it in one huge gulp. He slammed the now empty glass on the desk hard enough to dent the expensive wood.

He then pushed off of the edge of desk, swaying much more dangerously than he had before. He stepped into Techno’s personal space and reached out to hook a finger under the golden crown Techno always wore. It was a signature piece of his, a defining feature. Schlatt’s finger flicked up and knocked the crown to the floor where it rolled across the carpet before flopping limply onto the ground.

Techno was frozen in all senses of the word, he could not move not even as Schlatt slowly carded his fingers into Techno’s long pink hair. It was gentle, almost a caress and to an outsider would give the impression of intimacy between the two of them.

Then Schlatt’s grip tightened, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking Techno's head back roughly.

"How pathetic," he sneered, leaning close until Techno could feel his booze soaked breath fanning across his face. His eyes rolled down and his exposed throat swallowed reflexively as bile churned in his belly. 

"Look at you, the great Technoblade. The Blood God. Kneeling at my feet with your throat exposed." Schlatt reached out and picked up the netherite blade Techno had dropped, his grip clumsy on its handle. He lifted the sword to Techno’s throat, resting it against his fluttering pulse. "I could cut you open right here, drain you out onto to the floor and you couldn't stop me, you wouldn't even be able to save yourself."

"Or," he lowered the sword until its tip dug painfully into Techno’s belly. Techno winced as it cut into his flesh, digging in deep. "I could gut you, spill all your insides onto your lap and make you cradle them.. I could make you do it to yourself too, tell people that the guilt of what you did to Tubbo consumed you, that you killed yourself as penitence for what you’d done."

Techno swallowed thickly, turning his eyes onto the ceiling as he controlled his breathing. The fear that had started to bloom earlier was now rooting its way through his body, driving desperately against the forces that held him still. He scrambled to keep his cool to prevent the emotion from consuming his mind.

"You aren't the owner of the world I come from," it was a problem that had been nagging at him for days. He was an adult and had moved to a place of his own on Hypixel when he'd learned the name of the man who could have destroyed his entire life with a few simple words. In fact he'd learned a lot about being a Mob Player that he had never been taught growing up.. 

He was thankful that the Admin rarely left that server, and even if he _did_ , a few Mob Players would be beneath his notice. So he wondered how exactly Schlatt had the control over him that should have belonged to another.

Schlatt chuckled at that and released Technos hair, he stepped back to slump against his desk giggling. 

"That's the beauty of it! I wasn't originally, I admit, but well... I have connections and funds and everything has a price." Techno felt sick, but his glare didn't waver from Schlatt. 

"It was pretty hard to figure out where you were from, I considered it being Philza’s world in which case my idea would be fucked from the get go. But then I stumbled across your import date. When you first entered his world. Which of course meant you hadn't been born there. It was much simpler tracking your path through the hub, finding the first record of you stepping through a world portal. Then contacting the admin of said world and making some negotiations." He grinned, insanity twisting his features "and thus I gained ownership of the free will of one of the most powerful men in all the worlds"

His arms spread wide, the tremble to his limbs and the dangerous swaying of his unsupported body did not detract from the grandiosity of the gesture. He was a man in complete control of this situation and he knew it.

“You,” Techno swallowed, “You bought an entire world, all over the presidency on this server?”

“It was a pathetically small world to begin with, not very many people living there. Besides, I blackmailed him too. Simon sticks to his world for a reason after all. Naughty, naughty, he's had plenty of enemies. It was easy to convince him to give up ownership.”

“All for this?”

“Oh no, Techno,” Schlatt reached up to trace the curve of one horn, following it from root to sharpened tip, “It's all about _you_ . You and your _infernal brothers_.”

“I won't tell you anything, I won't betray them,” Techno snarled, turning his glare away to pierce the wall.

“Aw, _Techie_. Its cute that you think you have a choice.” Techno snapped his head back, mouth opened to spit insults when Schlatt’s eyes sharpened.

**_“Bark, like a dog.”_ **

Techno felt his throat constrict, his open mouth moving to shape the sound. He bit it back at first, then glared hatefully at Schlatt.

**_“Woof,”_ **

“Hmmm that wasn’t very convincing. **_Why don’t you try again?_ **”

“Woof,” Techno gave more volume to the sound this time, humiliation burned through his cheeks and he was glad no one else was here to witness this.

“Sorry, not realistic enough. **_Try. Again._ **” Techno paused, inhaling, his chest shuddering, staring at the blood starting to spread a stain across his shirt from the wound in his belly.

“Ruff,” it was loud and far more realistic. An angry growling and snarling sound. Schlatt sneered.

“As I said, Technoblade, you don’t really have a choice. Now,” he settled heavier against the desk, his arms crossing across his chest. “I want you to tell me everything about Tommy and Wilbur and where they are hiding. **_Leave no detail unspoken._ **”

Techno’s eyes widened and he snapped his mouth shut, fighting against the words that rose like a tide in his throat. His tongue curled and he bit down on it so hard he tasted blood in an attempt to fight back anything that threatened to come up.

He wouldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ betray his brothers.

He would _never_.

Schlatt simply waited, leaning back and studying his nails with a forced air of disinterest even as Techno choked on air on the floor in front of him.

Soon enough his body rebelled, trying to force him to follow Schlatt’s orders, trying to force him to submit. His lungs contracted, pushing air through his nostrils and flatly refusing to draw a fresh breath. Slowly he hunched, curling over as he trembled with the effort of his refusal to speak. He felt frozen to his core, _cold_ in a way he had never felt, not even when he’d fought in the Antarctic Empire with Philza. 

His forehead fell to the carpet, pressing into the fibers as he shook with the effort of drawing in breath past the frozen bands around his chest. Long hanks of pink hair fell around his face, shielding him from the room as he fought, desperately.

But it was futile.

His vision was blackening, spots flickering at the edges when he dropped open his mouth and gasped, gulping down the much needed air. Instead of an exhale however words began to pour like a waterfall from his mouth. Descriptions of Pogtopia, of the state of their food, their armor, their weapons. Dream’s aide that surely was tied up in numerous invisible strings. Once he started he found he couldn’t stop and he just talked and talked and _talked_. More words than he’d ever probably said to anyone the entire time he'd been on the server.

He remained crumpled over, his head pressed into the carpet. At least here no one could see the frustrated tears that began to trickle from his eyes as he handed Schlatt every single one of his brother’s secrets.

Time seemed to crawl by as Techno spoke, only interrupted by Schlatt occasionally asking questions for clarification or asking him to expound on some inane detail. By the time he finished talking, the cold retreating and letting him know he’d fulfilled the requirements of the orders laid out for him, he felt exhausted.

He heard Schlatt move closer and the man's hand reached down to grip one of his tusks to pull his head up. Techno flinched, shying away for a moment before relenting, allowing the manhandling. He just didn’t want to feel the frosted claws raking through his over sensitized brain anymore.

“There now, was that so hard?“ Schlatt’s eyes traced over Techno’s tearstained face, tracking the way Techno’s eyes averted, avoiding meeting his own. The pig hybrid didn’t respond, his shoulders slumped and defeat written in every line of his body. He felt wrung out, like his brain had been put through a blender and his body thrown beneath a stampede. 

He was tired down to his bones.

Schlatt clucked and stood again releasing his tusk. Techno’s head flopped a little before he caught himself not even realizing the effort it took just to keep his head up. Schlatt turned away and picked up his long empty glass from the desk, peering into it as if it had somehow magically refilled while they were talking.

“You’re free to go,” he said nonchalantly, taking the glass with him as he walked back around the desk to open a drawer on the other side and pulling out a large bottle of vodka. Techno blinked and looked up at him in confusion.

W-what?” he asked and Schlatt glared at him.

“Go back to Pogtopia. To be honest you’re more useful there than you are here. Keeping an eye on that little nest of rats. I’ll call you again if I need you. You’ll come. **_Just go back and act normal, like this never happened_ **.”

The order filtered into his brain, cold but still different from the previous ones he’d issued. Techno sat still, collecting himself for a moment before he began to move again, unsticking his limbs from the position theyd been held in for Mojang only knows how long.

He moves jerkily and unsteadily, reaching out to pick up the discarded sword on the ground, its tip streaked with his own blood. He wipes it off on his shirt and unsummons the blade, stashing it back in his inventory. Then slowly he stands, disguising the weakness in his hocks as he straightens. He turns and searches the floor for his crown, moving to retrieve it when he finds it with his eyes. When he picks it up he pauses, staring at it, at his distorted reflection in the gold surface, feeling gutted and empty.

“Oh and Technoblade?” his shoulders, tensed, jumping up around his neck as if to protect it.

“ **_Don’t tell anyone about what happened here_ **.” He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t speak, simply nodding mutely in acknowledgement of another layer of orders being laid over his mind. Instead he lifts the crown and rests it on his mussed pink locks. Then he strides to the door and exits, trying to keep himself from slamming the wood in his haste to leave.

It's only when he's outside that some of the defensiveness leaves his posture. The sheer force of will that kept him standing tall fades and he sways almost as drunkenly as Schlatt had.

Suddenly he crumples, shoving his fist into his mouth and screaming.

The muffled sound echoes, bounced off the walls around him, sharpened by the pain he felt as his tusks pierced the skin around his knuckles. It was a cry of his pain, his terror, his helplessness. Most of all it was his sheer frustration given voice.

He felt _violated_ , he felt _pathetic_ . He had been unable to do _anything_ to help himself as Schlatt had wrung from him everything he had to give.

Finally the sound trailed off and he returned slowly to his body, the heavy well of emotions settled somewhat now. Under control once again.

Techno inhaled slowly, pulled his hand from his mouth and the other from the grass. Wiping dirt off onto his pants. With another deep sigh, trying to pull himself back into balance he stood, glaring out over Manberg’s glittering lights.

Schlatt was a fool if he thought Techno was truly broken. He would find a way to free himself from this curse. 

He would find a way or die trying.

As Techno found his footing and began the long trek back to Pogtopia he was ignorant of a pair of eyes that watched his hunched form, studying the slight unsteadiness of his stride with keen eyes.

The shadows along a roof morphed and Dream’s lithe form came into focus where it was crouched, gargoyle-like. Despite the lime green of his hoodie he blended almost seamlessly into the purpled shadows around him, invisible except for the pure white disc of his mask that glowed eerily in the moonlight. The blank smile carved into it cast in unsettling relief, so bright it almost looked bodiless.

The mask tilted as it slowly moved from the staggering form of Techno to the warm glow of the window where Schlatt could be seen downing another glass of vodka.

“Well now,” Dream’s low voice purred, “what do we have here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dream said uwu wats dis?
> 
> Thanks to Feliodox and Exceed for beta reading my shit and doing writing sprints with me respectively.


	3. oh brother mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You were older and wiser my ally, my foe  
> With a puppy dog smile and a ticking bomb soul  
> There was some kind of yearning, something inside  
> Tossing out breadcrumbs for trouble to find  
> -Ruth Hill "Oh Brother Mine"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres been such an outpouring of support for this fic and it makes me so happy. I know i dont respond to a lot of comments but i read them all and appreciate everyone.
> 
> This might be the last chapter for a while. Im not super satisfied with the quality of the others, I know I can do better. So i will be building a little bit of an update buffer with the next couple of chapters and spend some time laying this out more solidly. This project is growing way beyond what i thought it would be so now i have to make sure I do it justice.  
> Thank you for your patience.
> 
> ALSO ALSO ALSO GO CHECK OUT FELIADOX! THEYRE MY INCREDIBLE BETA AND AN AMAZING WRITER AND I LOVE THEM WITH ALL MY HEART.  
> Thanks also to everyone on the lavender tea server who continues to support this fic and do writing sprints with me.

Technoblade can’t help but shrink slightly as he walks into the café. It’s a bright place and holds a feeling of stately elegance and wealth without being too overbearing. It's certainly not a place he would come to normally and that fact alone has him squirming.

The hostess by the door flashes him a wide dimpled smile and a bright greeting, her gaze expectant. Techno towers over her by at least a foot but he can't help fumbling over his words as anxiety grips him.

“U-uhm,” he practically whispers and the girls smile dims somewhat as she blinks at the massive man fumbling to speak in front of her, “I’m - I’m meeting someone?”

“Yes, do you have a name?” her smile widens. Techno flushes and sputters in response.

“U-uh yes? Yes, I have a name. It's Technoblade, my name is Technoblade,” he responds, confusion lacing his tone. The woman's smile widens and her shoulders jump with suppressed laughter.

“I uh.. I meant do you know the name of the person you're meeting with,” Techno felt his face burn with embarrassment.

“Firebreathman,” he whispers, shrinking into the fur lined hood of his cloak. The hostess giggles softly and gestures back into the recesses of the café.

“Alright sweetheart, right this way,” she says brightly and leads him back through the tables until she reaches a series of doors set along the back wall. She opens one to reveal a private room, small and enclosed with leather booths along all the walls and a circular table set in the center.

Seated against the far wall is a rather plain looking man with brown eyes and brown hair. His distinguishing features were his bright red shirt and the red headband that held back his curly hair. He glances up from his communicator as they enter and offers both of them a wide friendly smile.

“Ah Technoblade, glad you could make it! Thank you for helping him ma’am,” he calls out. Techno shuffles around the hostess to squeeze into the booths, sitting down heavily and glancing up at the chandelier in the small closet like room. The hostess smiles warmly at the two of them, hand remaining on the door.

“Your tea should be along soon, sirs. I hope you enjoy your afternoon,” she says before shutting the door shut behind her. Fire’s eyes linger on the door for a moment before he relaxes back into the squishy chair, casting a casual smile Techno’s way.

“Relax son, this isn’t some big formal thing. I like to come here because you can get these private rooms which are enchanted against any eavesdropping,” he gestures up above the doorway and Techno looks up to see galactic scrawled around the frame. He couldn’t read it, but if what Fire said was true, it was probably something to do with sound dampening and protection on the door.

“Seems expensive,” he mumbled and jumped a little when Fire laughed.

“Yeah it is but if you aren’t at your own home you have to pay for privacy here on Hypixel, especially if you get famous. You’d better learn that now since you're already on your way up. This isn’t some small time server anymore kid.”

“I'm not a kid,” Techno grumbled, “I'm also not uh... big? I’ve just won a few small tournaments.”

Firebreath paused, studying him with his warm brown eyes, the jovial expression on his face smoothing somewhat. He looked more serious now and Techno fidgeted under the scrutiny.

“I was in the crowd for your last Bedwars, and I’ve seen the streams for a few of your other fights. I invited you here for a few reasons, but the potential I saw in you in that ring is one of them for sure. I'm not the only one who saw it too. Plenty of old guard are already starting to murmur your name and if you keep on like this the sponsors are gonna start pushing for you to enter the big leagues, see how you do there.”

Techno felt a pleasant heat warm his ears at the honest compliment of his skills. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap, feeling self conscious suddenly. 

Since coming to Hypixel, he’d pushed himself hard, training and working day and night to make his own way on the competitive server. He’d always been a fighter, a warrior.

The childhood Phil had afforded him couldn’t entirely erase his violent and blood soaked origins. 

Hypixel hosted a great many powerful fighters and a constant battery of competitions for said fighters to challenge themselves in. Techno found he enjoyed how fast paced life was here, although this kind of offer was a first.

“You said you had multiple reasons for asking me here,” he latched on to the more conspicuous part of Fire’s statement, feeling some confusion and suspicion well up in him. Firebreath seemed a good fellow but Philza had warned Techno that people would see his youth and try to take advantage of it. Firebreath inhaled slowly and his face became very serious.

“Yes… well about that-“ the door opened, interrupting him as a waiter came in and set down a pot and two mugs onto the table. Techno sat back as the man lifted the delicate china and poured the two cups full of something floral and almost spicy smelling. Firebreath smiled and nodded to him as Techno mumbled a quiet thanks, pulling his mug towards him, unsure of its contents. He took a sip and found that flavors were both unlike anything he could remember, tasting unspeakably delicious.

Techno chugged the first mug, heedless of its heat, peripherally aware of Firebreath declining anymore service and requesting they not be disturbed until they left. He set the mug down and heaved a huge sigh, then burping.

“It’s good I take it?” Techno flushed again at Fire’s chuckle but the man waved a hand when Techno opened his mouth to apologize, “Tts fine, I’m glad you like it. I figured you hadn’t had any before, being raised by players and all that.”

Techno coughed into his second mug at the comment and looked up. It was the second time Firebreath had made a comment alluding to Techno’s upbringing, and it was starting to grate. He set the mug on the table, slowly removing his hands and folding them in front of him, knitting his fingers together. He fixed his red eyes on the man leveling a flat look in his direction.

“You said you had a few reasons for inviting me here, I think you should start explaining what those are,” Fire, who had lifted his own mug to his mouth to sip paused, he looked up to meet Technos eyes and smiled again, slowly setting his mug back down.

“Sorry, I suppose you’re right. Just wanted to make sure we weren’t interrupted,” he said nodding to the closed door. Then to Techno's astonishment he removed his headband and his eyes began to _ glow _ .

Techno leaned back as Fire’s eyes burned like embers in his skull, every blink shedding a small cascade of sparks like tears. The glow suffused his skull, highlighting veins around his eyes and backlighting his teeth so Techno could see them through the flesh of his cheeks. Fire’s smile widened at Techno’s expression making his face look even more like a demented jackolantern.

“Bruh,” was all Techno could say and at that Firebreath threw his head back and gave a full bodied laugh, exhaling embers with his humor. His laugh filled the room and Techno couldn’t help the quirk of his lips that followed the infectious glee. The laugh reminded him of his father.

“Oh hahahahah o-oh my hehehehe sorry I- hahaha I just hehehe your FACE!” He dissolved into laughing again. Slowly the fierce glow dimmed to something more manageable, the spooky effect of his skull highlighted from within fading. 

When his eyes opened again they were a lower molten orange, pupils candle yellow. Techno watched the change intently, eyes wide and almost uncomprehending. He’d never seen anything like Firebreath, whose eyes were now warm flames, a faint glow under the skin around them. His hair also had taken on glowing strands, fluttering slightly as though stirred by a breeze. The effect was distinctly otherworldly. 

“So you’re… a Mob Player?” Techno asked hesitantly.

“Woooo boy, you really grew up in some backwater server didn't ya?” Fire leaned back, running his hand through his hair. His smile remained but there was an frision of tension there now.

“Look,” he leaned forward suddenly, elbows slamming onto the table, “I’m a Hybrid Player, so I dont have the same drawbacks you do. My mom was the Mob Player, a Blaze if that wasn't obvious enough. She was a fiery lady, and her and my dad are still deeply in love. She was the one who taught me how to gather ingredients for, and brew, Nether tea.” 

“Nether tea?” Tecno glazed down at his mug.

“Yea, it was always a comfort to me growing up. Still is if I’m being honest. Something about it speaks to our instincts. I'm sure most Hybrids and Mobs have similar ticks. Little things that speak to the part of them that isnt Player. Just one of those things I guess,” Techno stared into his mug, at the swirl of froth and tiny fragments of herbs in his cup. The scent of it, something like the spice of cinnamon and bizarrely lavender, relaxed something in his chest he hadn't even known was tense. He breathed deeply, inhaling it slowly and taking another sip, running the flavor over his tongue with more care this time, closing his eyes and deconstructing it. 

It tickled something in the back of his mind, some distant and mostly forgotten memory belonging to a time before Philza. A time when his world was hot and red and glowing. When his eyes opened again he found Firebreath watching him intently. His expression hidden behind steepled fingers. Techno coughed awkwardly and set the mug down with a clink.

“You uh… you mentioned drawbacks?” he started again, hoping to distract from the fugue the tea had put him in earlier. Firebreaths eyebrows dropped, the molten color of his eyes dimming to a frightening red. He inhaled slowly before sitting up straighter.

“What do you know about a man named Simon?”

\--------

The first rays of dawn caressed the sky, fingerpainting it in streaks of petal pink and soft lilac. The sun was barely crawling over the edge of the horizon, its weak rays barely enough to chase mobs into hiding as it woke slowly from its slumber, almost reluctant to begin the day. 

Birds were awakening all around filling the air with song and the less dangerous creatures of the world were clambering from their nighttime dens to the safety of the brightened sky. 

He picked his way carefully over dew slickened grass, deftly using protruding roots and smaller trees to ease his path up and down the more treacherous hills. He slid out at one point, balance leaving him as he skated across a particularly wet patch of grass. His ass hit the dirt and he skidded down the hill with a curse so loud it startled a flock from the trees. 

Luckily enough he caught himself before he slipped into the river and he began to skulk along its much flatter bank. His shoulders were hunched and he clung to the shadows like the few mobs remaining from last night. Obviously trying to avoid being seen and only partially succeeding.

Finally he reached a seemingly innocuous dirt hillside, a few horses were staked out front, the only sign something might be amiss here. They nickered curiously at him as he dug his shovel into a soft part of the wall but he ignored them, stepping into the newly made hole and replacing the dirt behind him almost absently. He crossed the small stone room to the entrance that led down down down into the ravine that was now called Pogtopia. 

Lanterns and torches guttered along the walls, their crackling the only sound to be heard. He tilted his head left and right, listening for a sign that someone was awake. But there wasn’t a sound and he felt his shoulders slump a little with relief. 

“Hello I-“

“JESUS SHITFUCKING CHRIST,”

He leapt almost out of his skin, whirling and drawing his sword in one single move to face his assailant. Dream was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and despite his blank mask he got the distinct impression that Dream was unimpressed.

“Feeling a little jumpy, Soot?” Dream asked, his voice a smooth drawl. Wilbur heaved a heavy sigh, shaking off the momentary rush of adrenaline. He unsummoned his sword and took off his beanie to run his fingers through his curly brown hair. 

“Don’t fucking sneak up on me,” he grumbled, eyeing the Admin darkly. Dream only chuckled. 

“Why? Were you off doing something you shouldn’t?” The question was thick with intent. Dream clearly wanted to know why he was sneaking back into Pogtopia at the crack of dawn. Wilbur simply shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Just working on intel gathering,” his smile widened, “The time is so close I can taste it, I want to be as ready as I can be when it comes.”

“The TnT is set then?” Dream’s voice betrayed nothing of his thoughts on the matter, but that didn’t bother Wilbur.

“Has been since before the Festival, Manberg’s foundations are now the most volatile kind of unstable imaginable.” He giggled slightly, a sick sort of glee filling him at the thought of fire and smoke consuming the country, burning away all the people who had betrayed him, abandoned him. 

“It seems your little rebellion is on equally unstable grounds,” Wilbur's smile fell at Dream’s ominous words.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly, taking a step closer to the green clad man. The mask only smiled mockingly at him, concealing any true emotion there might have been on Dream’s face.

“I recently discovered that there might be a little… spy in your midst,” Wilburs mind instantly jumped to Tubbo. The boy had been under Schlatt’s thumb for a long time. It wouldn’t be too surprising if the Festival was a set up to get Tubbo in even deeper. Keep him in Pogtopia so he could wrap them up in Schlatt’s web. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. Tubbo was just like all the others, sneaking conniving little SNAKE. He was here to steal the last of Wilbur’s possessions and dignity. He was a little traitor and Schlatt had the right idea when it came to dealing with traitors.

“-then again I supposed it makes sense. He's always struck me as a bit… mercenary-like.” Wilbur was shaken from his thoughts, catching the tail end of whatever Dream had been prattling on about. He frowned in confusion. 

Tubbo?  _ Mercenary _ ?

“What do you mean?” Dream chuckled at the question.

“Technoblade, I mean I can't think of a single time he’s ever fought for anyone else if it didn’t directly benefit him. He's just that kind of person, in it for himself. I mean isn’t he also an anarchist? He can't possibly be truly loyal to your cause when it involves setting up your government.” Dream flipped his hand airily, as if his words were light and meaningless. Wilbur however felt a familiar burn of rage beginning low in his stomach. 

“Technoblade? You think  _ Technoblade _ is the spy?” he grit the words out but they only barely escaped the clench of his teeth. In his pockets his hands fisted into tight balls, fingernails digging into his palm.

If Dream was aware of Wilbur’s agitation he didn’t show it.

“That’s the intel I received,” he snarked and Wilbur’s arms shuddered. Suddenly he exhaled, all of the tension fleeing him in one swift motion. You didn’t need to be Technoblade to see the confusion written all over Dream at the sudden change.

“Well that’s a relief,” Wilbur laughed, the sound light and barking, “I thought we had a real problem on our hands.”

“You don’t think Technoblade being a  _ traitor _ is a real problem?” Dream’s eyes narrowed.

“Nope,” Wilbur grinned, “Because Techno isn’t the traitor.”

“You really think you know him that well?” Dream’s voice had a sharp edge to it and he leaned forward, swaying as if to force Wilbur back with his presence alone. Wilbur instead slumped even more nonchalantly. 

“He's my brother and I've known him since we were kids so uuuhhh," he tapped his chin, “ _ Yeah, _ yeah I think I do know him that well.”

“Hes a fucking murderer-“

“We all are,” Wilbur interrupted, his jovial tone abruptly dark. He stepped closer to Dream, his grin wide and crooked as he leaned in close to the Admin’s masked face. “We’re all killers, Dream, and I’ve got something to tell you.

“Techno may not share our ideologies or our blood,” he exhaled, his breath fanning across porcelain, “But he’s our brother. He's  _ MY _ brother. He would never betray us, not without his hand being forced.”

“So the Festival was a fluke then?” Dream’s voice had grown hushed, but no less biting. Wilbur grinned, blade sharp.

“Tubbo isn’t family, Dream. Neither are  _ you _ for that matter. Techno doesn’t like you, you know. I don’t think he’d be pleased to find you here.” Dreams’ fists were now the clenched ones, closed so tightly they trembled slightly. 

“Fine,” he turned on his heel and escaped the close encounter, moving to climb back up the steps out of Pogtopia. He paused just before he left Wilbur’s line of sight, “You should ask him where he was last night. Might be… informative.” 

Then he was gone.

Wilbur scoffed loudly and turned on his heel to go deeper into Pogtopia. He was looking for Techno, but not for the reasons Dream wanted him to. Wilbur wasn’t a fool, he knew Techno’s ideas didn’t align with his own. But Techno was also loyal to him, to their family. He would happily die to protect them.

Wilbur had seen it before.

_ A small piglin child wielding a branch as a club, standing between Wilbur and a small horde of zombies twice his size. His tusks bare and his angry squeals filling the air as he fought and fought, heedless of their gnashing teeth and clawing hands. _

_ He didn’t stop fighting, didn’t stop defending Wilbur until their dad arrived and finished the stranglers off.  _

_ Only then did he collapse. _

No Techno had always had a fierce loyalty to his family, and Wilbur was sure he would not betray them.

Willingly. 

The word haunted him, the word and Techno’s actions at the Festival. Wilbur had pointed out that Tubbo wasn’t family and that was true but… Tubbo was close enough and Techno didn’t generally like killing kids, as many orphan murder jokes as he made. 

Wilbur turned a corner and almost tripped over a diamond axe left on the ground.

“Tommy,” he growled, bending down to pick up the weapon, relieved he'd tripped over the handle and not the wickedly sharp blade. Studying it his eyes narrowed. Tommy would never have the patience to hone an axe to this keen of an edge, and Tubbo hadn’t touched a weapon since he’d respawned here. 

Looking down he spotted a familiar whetstone lying innocently on the ground. Abandoned abruptly by an owner who would never just drop his tools without reason.

Wilbur turned back towards Pogtopia’s exit. Maybe finding Techno was a little bit more of an important task than he’d thought it was.

Wilbur surfaced from Pogtopia once again, blinking at the intense sunlight. The softness of early dawn had faded in his time below ground and now the sun was high in the sky, its warm rays evaporating the last of the dew from the grass. A pair of wild pigs were wading in the mud by the nearby river when he came up, snorting and snuffing happily.

Wilbur huffed and turned to climb the hill above Pogtopia’s secret entrance and looked around, hand shading his eyes from the sun’s rays. He began to walk in the general direction he often saw Techno disappearing to when he returned to his secret base. Wilbur understood his brother's need for privacy ( _ and understood that Pogtopia was not half as secret as he'd like it to be _ ) so Techno having his own base had never bothered him much. Now though he wished he at least knew its location, he never thought he'd have to check up on Techno.

As he walked he lifted up his communicator, pulling up the message screen and shooting off a private text to Techno.

WilburSoot: Hey where are you?

He kept walking, keen eyes scanning the surrounding terrain for disturbances, signs of Techno’s passing. His comm dinged and he looked at the incoming message.

Technoblade: Why?

He frowned at that, tapping out his response. 

WilburSoot: Just wanted to talk. Nothing bad.

He hoped at least. He stopped in the shade of a tree as he watched the chat, waiting for another private message from Techno and glancing over the world chat, reading the inane conversations of the other denizens of the server.

Technoblade: I’m at my cow pit.

Cow pit? Wait… did he mean that natural sink hole Techno had been keeping some cows in? Why the hell was he calling it a cow pit?

Wilbur sighed and turned to cross the river, hopping across some stones to reach the other side and heading to where Techno had concealed his herd. It wasn’t a very far walk and soon enough his ears caught the sound of mooing and the smell of many animals. He crested the hill and finally spotted his brother, sprawled on his belly on the grass. 

Coming closer he found that Techno was laying so his arms could reach into the pit, his hands rubbing the heads of the cows who came close enough to sniff at him. One of them was leaning against the wall heavily, looking almost asleep it was so blissed out by the attention. Another was licking Techno’s wrist and Wilbur cringed imagining the roughness of the tongue and shuddering.

“Hey Tech,” he called as he came closer, knowing better than to sneak up on his brother. Techno looked up at his name and Wilbur felt his heart sink. Techno’s red eyes were even more red and bloodshot looking. The bags underneath them looked like someone had painted swathes of ink there. His hair was undone from its usual neat braid and tumbled over his shoulders and into his face in wild hanks of strawberry pink. His crown was missing from its usual spot on his head, instead resting on the ground beside him. 

Overall he looked like complete shit and Wilbur felt a clench in his gut at the sight of him.

“Hey… are you ok?” he asked, slowly sitting down in the grass next to Techno, crossing his legs beneath him. Techno’s eyes averted and he simply grunted noncommittally, focusing his attention back on his animals. Wilbur sighed at the response and propped his elbow on one of his knees, resting his chin in his palm as he studied his brother.

Techno had never been a big talker, especially when it came to his feelings. For as verbose and eloquent he could be at times, Techno’s grasp of more intimate social situations had never been the best. He spoke louder with his actions than anything else and it was these actions that Wilbur had learned to interpret. 

Techno was clearly bothered by something, but he also didn’t want to discuss whatever it was. 

The two stewed in a tense silence for a long moment, the only other sounds the buzz of insects in the grass and the lowing of the cows in the pit below. 

“Do you remember that little calf you bottle raised when we were kids?” Wilbur said suddenly, bursting the tense atmosphere. Techno looked up, eyes blinking slowly.

The silence stretched and Wilbur suddenly wondered if he was going to actually get anywhere with Techno today.

“Heather?” Techno’s voice was low and rough, deepened by gruffness. It sounded like he’d been screaming or crying. Wilbur shoved down the worry that threatened to overtake the innocent conversation he’d just started. 

“Yeah, that was what you named her!” Wilbur snapped his fingers in Techno’s direction. The piglins face screwed up in confusion, eyebrows quirking.

“You wanted to talk about Heather?” he asked incredulously. Wilbur barked a short laugh.

“Well no, but all the cows made me think about her. You were so attached to that cow, Philza didn’t have the heart to add her back into the herd. She was supposed to be steak and instead she lived to a goodly old age in the barn,” Wilbur hummed, bending down so he could outstretch a hand for the cows inspection.

“She earned her keep, we always had plenty of milk from her” Techno lifted his chest off the ground, resting his weight on his elbows as he leveled a flat look at Wilbur.

“It wasn’t ever a question about her worth,” Wilbur said slowly, eyeing his brother, “you loved her so she was important. She could have been dry as a bone and we still would have kept her bedded in clean straw with good hay to eat at all hours.”

The silence stretched after that and Wilbur felt a little disturbed by the comment. He watched Techno who was staring into the pen with a pensive and dark expression. Suddenly he reached out and laid a hand gently on his brother's shoulder. 

“You don’t have to earn your keep either,” he murmured, feeling a swell of an unnameable sadness rise in him, twisted up in a wreath of guilt, “We love you so you’ll always matter to us even if…”

He trailed off uncertainly then steadied his resolve, “Even if you decided to leave, decided not to help us with the rebellion I… I would understand.”

Techno’s eyes widened and he jerked upright to sit on his knees. He faced Wilbur, his eyes wide and Wilbur suddenly wondered why he looked so shocked. Why did he look so surprised. Surely he knew that he didn’t have to stay and help, that this was Wilbur and Tommy’s fight and while Wilbur appreciated  _ needed _ Techno’s help he wouldn’t do so at his brother's expense.

But he’d already done that hadn’t he, staying silent during Tubbo’s execution, encouraging the fight between his brothers.

“I…” Techno trailed off and swallowed thickly, “No I want to help you. I want to help you reclaim Manberg.” 

Wilbur sighed heavily and flashed him an honest grin. Some part of him was reassured by Techno’s words. At the same time however he felt unsettled, like in assuring himself of his brother's loyalty he had only opened up an entirely new avenue of possibilities for the cause of Techno’s distress.

“Even if we establish a new government? Or reestablish the old one?” he asked his eyes averting from Techno’s face. There was a long pause and then Techno heaved a sigh filled with layers and layers of conflict.

“Even then. Whatever I may think, Whatever beliefs I hold… they're nothing in the face of you two. You asked for my help and I’m giving it.” Techno sounded tired, and Wilbur’s heart clenched at the note of almost regret in his brother's tone. But at the same time he also believed him. 

Techno had always been an honest person, subterfuge was never his forte. When he spoke he spoke his mind with as much clarity as he could muster and often very little filter. If Techno said he was setting aside his own beliefs for their aid then Wilbur believed him.

But the words only further served to unsettle him. Maybe it was because the problems he was grabbing at were the incorrect ones. They were the issues that Wilbur could most easily solve, the ones that involved Techno simply leaving. Maybe it was because that without dissatisfaction at the morals driving their rebellion the number of problems that could be weighing so heavily on Techno became almost infinite.

Or maybe it was because Wilbur already had an inkling, an idea of what the issue was. He was just praying he was wrong.

Wilbur blinked from his musings, realizing that Techno was eyeing him with a tense almost worried expression. 

“Do you want me to braid your hair back for you?” he asked, hands open, palms face up and empty towards his sibling. Techno continued to watch him for a long aching moment before his face softened.

“Sure,” he said and turned slowly, shifting until he could rest his head and all of his pink hair in Wilbur’s lap. Wilbur hummed happily and set about finger combing the knots from Techno’s hair, allowing his mind to settle into an almost meditative state as his hands worked.

Techno’s body melted into the touches, relaxing in a way he never did around anyone outside of their little patchwork family. The stress lines on his face eased and the subtle clench of his fists relaxed as Wilbur worked. His eyes fluttering shut and remaining that way as he relaxed.

While he did that Wilbur inspected him further.

There was a thin red line on his neck, a cut that was razor fine and had long since clotted. More alarmingly was the red bloom across the stomach of Techno’s shirt. The tear in the clothing signalling where something extremely sharp had pierced it and evidently pierced his brothers body. Wilbur wanted to see if the wound was bad, or if it had been patched but had a feeling that any questions would only shatter the delicate trust that formed the foundation of this moment.

Both injuries only served to heighten his paranoia, something had happened last night, something had disturbed Techno beyond his distress over the Festival.

Or maybe they were the same thing.

Dreams words came back to haunt him as his fingers stalled in their task for a moment. A half seconds hesitation that Wilbur was swift to correct lest Techno notice.

Wilbur was sure in his statement that Techno would never betray them. The idea of it was preposterous.

However, Techno had also killed Tubbo, had listened to Schlatt while up on that stage instead of killing everyone around him for even daring to try and tell him what to do. Wilbur realized with a sudden clarity that Techno’s actions at the Festival, from killing Tubbo to his fistfight with Tommy, had been far outside of the norm for his brother. Techno had acted like a feral beast, something injured and cornered and then punished for lashing out.

Wilbur’s hands began to braid, tying together Techno’s hair like his mind was tying together the threads of evidence he’d been presented with. Something had happened at the Festival, something beyond simply peer pressure.

Something that likely had to do with Schlatt.

Wilbur wasn’t a fool and while Techno had never spoken much about his status as a Mob Player Wilbur had a few inklings. Mostly things he’d learned from a fish hybrid by the name of Sally he’d met years ago.

_ “Don’t blame yourself if I leave, never blame yourself. I love you Wilbur Soot, I love you with everything in me.” _

Wilbur hadn’t spoken about her much to his family. They’d asked, wondering where the small fox child that Wilbur had brought to his fathers home had come from.

_ “If it were my choice I would never leave either of you.” _

_ “Why do you say that like it isn’t?” _

_ “… because someday it may not be.” _

It hurt to think about her, to remember her at all. Sometimes when he looked at Fundy all he could see was her smile in his crooked tooth filled grin, her hair in his red coat, her vibrant green eyes in his own.

_ “Will she be the same as you?” _

_ “No, bless Mojang no. Your blood in her makes her a hybrid. She will need a strong will, need to know to be watchful of her own mind, need to learn to resist the pull to obey. But ultimately if she stands strong her free will will always be her own.” _

_ “Unlike yours.” _

_ “Yes…” _

Fundy had been raised to be independent, to think freely and to stand strong in the face of anyone who would try and steal his will. Philza, Techno and Tommy had all pitched in to help Wilbur raise his son when the boy was young. They had all helped in their own ways to establish his son's personality. Had Wilbur ever thanked them for that?

_ “Sally? Sally where are you? SALLY?” _

She’d left, she’d left like she’d always warned him she would. One night he went to bed with her at his side and the next morning when he’d woken up she was gone. Her things were left behind, it looked like she had simply left to tend to the garden.

He’d hoped, for weeks he’d hoped that she’d come back. That wherever she’d gone she’d return from.

But she hadn’t, he never even heard from her again.

“You done?” Wilbur blinked out of the memory at Techno’s words and looked down at his brother.

“Oh uh,” he looked at the long French braid in his hand and then used the leather strip to tie it off. “Yeah, yeah I'm done.”

“You looked pretty gone, what were you thinking about?” Techno sat up slowly, hand running over his newly braided hair. He didn’t show any sign of his gut wound bothering him as he did so. Wilbur paused letting the silence stretch as he contemplated his reply.

“Sally,” he finally responded, letting his gaze drift to the horizon, only catching Techno’s swift head turn out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh…” Techno didn’t push, knowing the subject was as sensitive for Wilbur as his injuries and current state of mind were for him.

“What is the plan after all this Wilbur,” Techno changed the subject, knitting his hands together as he followed Wilbur’s gaze to where green met the blue of the sky.

“What do you mean?” Wilbur sagged slightly, leaning against Techno’s sturdier frame, voice and eyes distant and consumed with an internal struggle.

“What are you going to do when we win, after L’Manberg is reclaimed?” Techno added, swaying with the added weight but otherwise not moving. Enjoying the last dredges of peace and quiet.

“I don’t know… go back to being president I guess.” Wilbur mumbled. Techno hummed in response and paused, as if thinking.

“Maybe you can appoint a VP, take a break for a bit,” Techno suggested, voice soft and low, “Maybe… maybe we can go visit dad.”

Wilbur turned to look at his brother, thoughts disappearing like the mornings dew. Techno looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes sharply defined and dark in the midday sun. He looked drained beyond all reasoning, fragile in a way Wilbur had never seen him.

_ “Our days are numbered Wilbur, our time will be cut short one day. Can you live with that?” _

He hadn’t agreed to it then and wouldn't agree to it now. 

“Yeah, Techno we can visit dad.”


	4. willow tree march

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You fall through the trees  
> And you pray with your knees on the ground  
> For the things that you need  
> With your lust and your greed weighing down  
> And you weaken your love  
> And you hold it above your head  
> Success is a song of the heart, not a song of your bed

Time passed by slowly for Techno. As much as the conversation with his brother had reinvigorated him, it couldn’t account for actual real sleep. A few nights a week he felt the tendrils of cold wrap themselves around his brain and anchor behind his lungs, tugging and pulling him back to Schlatt’s side.

Once there he would update Schlatt on the goings on in Pogtopia; their weapons, their armor, their enchantments, their  _ state of mind _ -

Nothing was left unseen by Schlatt's dark gaze.

He confessed his own distress at Tommy’s continued belligerence towards him. He talked about how Tubbo had begun to wield weapons again, but kept an enchanted crossbow at his side always.

Techno talked about how he could feel Tubbo's eyes on him, like he would snap and lash out at him at any moment. 

He discussed how Wilbur had retreated even more, disappearing for days on end without telling anyone in Pogtopia of where he was going, clearly planning something but also not sharing. 

He updated him about their allies. Niki, who had moved into the ravine following the festival. A soothing presence for Tubbo and Tommy, as well as Eret, who was supporting them from afar… much to Tommy and Wilbur’s chagrin.

The warmth of that day by the cows, of Wilbur’s fingers in his hair and of the quiet promise he’d made was one of the only things keeping up Techno’s spirits.

Every time he kneeled on the plush floor of Schlatt’s office and took his abuse, he gripped onto the thought that even with all the intel he was dumping into Schlatt’s lap, Wilbur would kill him and then they would go home to Philza’s farm. He would get to put down his weapons and take off his armor. He could repair his relationship with Tommy, and help Tubbo regain his confidence and brightness. He would maybe find another orphaned calf to raise and Wilbur would help him name it.

They would be okay.

He  _ clung _ to that belief even as the idea of them advancing on Manberg and Schlatt ordering him to turn his weapons on his brothers stalked his dreams. He had to keep some fragment of hope, even if it was partially anchored in the idea that, for whatever reason, Dream was supporting Pogtopia’s rebellion and he would help make sure it wouldn’t fail.

A thought that Techno trusted even less than Schlatt.

So Techno clung to hope, avoided one brother and prayed for another. He mined and he forged and he crafted and he enchanted.

He simply hunkered down and prepared. Trying to create as much of an advantage for his brothers as he could, a way for them to find victory even if it meant they were staring down the tip of his own crossbow.

The weeks slipped by like this, a blur to Techno’s sleep deprived mind, caught between the jaws of nightmares and visits to Schlatt's office. Pogtopia hunkered with him down, watching the horizon, feeling the storm building in the atmosphere.

Then finally, they saw the first glimpse of lightning.

* * *

_ [Jschlatt was shot by Quackity] _

Techno is deep within the mines when his communicator pings, he lifts it up and stares at it unsurprised. There had been a few times when he’d overheard arguments between the two after being summoned to Schlatt, not just that first night after the Festival. It was clear to him that there had been resentment festering there.

It had just finally boiled over.

\---

Wilbur lurked in a library, a book so old it threatened to crumble away in his hands. He glanced at his communicator and couldn’t help but smile, dark and deranged.

“Two down, one to go.” He hummed, dropping the book carelessly back onto the shelf as he turned away, lifting his hand to send off a few messages.

\---

Tommy is surprisingly a witness to the murder, watches the growing rage on Quackity’s face as Schlatt rants and raves, talking about tearing down the white house and building it bigger and better somewhere else. Insulting Quackity, making fun of him. Tommy watches Quackity summon a bow and arrow and draw it, firing straight into Schlatt's unarmored back in one swift motion before turning and fleeing, rage still bright in his eyes.

Tommy is the one who extends a hand to Quackity, offering him a place in the rebellion.

It is not a popular decision.

“That’s fucking bullshit!” Tommy screamed, shoving himself into Wilbur’s personal space. Techno who is standing a few feet away, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, tenses slightly, nostrils flaring. He cuts an impressive and frightening figure, the dark bags under his eyes only serving to make his glare even more intimidating.

Quackity shrinks in response, giving a nervous chuckle as he eyes Techno warily.

“Wilbur we need more people,” Tubbo intercedes, placing a hand on Tommy’s arm and drawing him back, “He took one of Schlatt’s lives, shouldn’t that be evidence enough?”

“The only thing it fucking proves is that he’s willing to kill for a cause, we don’t know whose cause that is,” Wilbur growls, standing tall and still, his arms crossed. His dark glare causes Tubbo to flinch but the boy stands his ground.

“My cause is fucking killing Schlatt!’ Quackity yells, casting glances in the direction of Techno’s looming figure, “I figured that was a ride you would want to get on!”

“There's more to this rebellion than just Schlatt dying,” Techno’s voice is low and growling, the rasp of sleepless nights edging it like thorns on armor. Quackity and Tubbo both flinch but Tommy only glares balefully in Techno’s direction.

“We can trust Quackity just as much as we can trust  **him.** After-all, Techno’s the only one between them who has successfully killed one of us before,” Tommy’s statement falls like a weighted stone over the room, shattering the conversation like glass.

A long silence follows it, everyone too afraid to break the heavy pall laying over them.

“He’s right,” Techno grunts, turning his gaze to Wilbur whose only response is a dagger eyed glare. Techno doesn’t budge however, meeting it head-on with his own steady look. It’s a battle of wills that stretches like a rubber band before finally Wilbur looks away, breaking the staring match.

“Fine, whatever. I guess we do need more people for the rebellion,” Wilbur sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking around Tommy and Quackity towards his room in Pogtopia, ”But, uh, Quackity?”

“Yeah Wilbur?” The man says slowly, turning his head to glare at the other’s retreating back. Wilbur pauses, not turning around, his posture relaxed.

“If you do try and betray us, I will have the Blade hunt you down and cut you apart piece by piece and take all of your remaining lives in the most painful ways possible. He's imaginative, so I’m sure he can think of something especially  _ fun _ ,” Wilbur kept walking, disappearing.

Quackity audibly swallowed and glanced back to where Techno was lurking, watching the spot where Wilbur had vanished. He turned to meet his gaze and Quackity  _ eeped _ softly, moving behind Tommy unconsciously. Techno snorted, pushed off the wall, turned back and entered a side tunnel to descend into the mines he’d come from for the meeting.

With both Wilbur and Techno gone the mood lightened significantly, with everyone releasing relieved sighs.

“Well, welcome to the rebellion Quackity,” Tubbo clapped the other man on the back, offering him a small smile. Quackity gave him a crooked and forced grin in return, still glancing at where Techno had disappeared as if expecting him to lunge back out of the tunnel, sword swinging.

“Yeah, some welcome party.” He chuckled nervously.

“I don’t know why Wilbur didn’t make him leave after he killed Tubbo,” Tommy growled, eyes dark.

“Yeah, uh… I would also like to know that?” Quackity glanced between Tubbo and Niki as if either one of them had the answers for that question. They both just looked uncomfortable.

“Techno is strong, the strongest one here probably, “ Tubbo mumbled, a hand reaching up to rub at the starburst scars across his cheek, “I think that we need him. We wouldn’t be able to win without him.”

The words are a heavy statement, an admittance of weakness that no one wants to acknowledge. Tommy rests a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, his eyes furious but doesn’t contradict the statement. Not one them can.

“But I thought you guys had Dream on your side? Do you really need  **him** if you’ve got the fucking world admin in your pocket?” Quackity’s face is screwed up in confusion, mirrored by Tubbo and Niki. Only Tommy snaps his head around, eyes wide and near feral.

“How do you know about that?!” he snarls, stepping towards Quackity menacingly. The other may be older but Tommy is still taller and he raises his hands defensively.

“Schlatt mentioned it! He said something about Dream helping you guys and asked me a bunch of questions about things that could potentially tempt Dream to switch sides!” Quackity babbled waving his hands in front of him.

“Who told him! NO ONE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT THAT!” Tommy’s face was pale with panic, his eyes wide. Dream’s involvement, his aid to their cause had been a very close secret, not even Tubbo knew. His eyes dart to Niki and Tubbo, but both of them look pale and confused as well. Either they didn’t know or they were incredible actors.

“I don’t KNOW!” Quackity gave Tommy a shove, sending him stumbling out of the other man's personal space, “I don’t  _ KNOW _ how Schlatt knew if it was such a big secret.”

Tommy breathed heavily, staring him down as his hands flexed, clenching and unclenching.

“Tommy,” Niki’s voice was soft, gentle, “Tommy, who else knew?”

“It…” he paused, swallowing as his shoulders tensed further, “It was just the three of us. Me, Techno and Wilbur.”

Everyone shared a glance at that, then eyes turned to peer at the place where Wilbur had left and the tunnel Techno had breezed down.

“Just the three of you?” she confirmed, eyes darkening. Tommy nodded mutely. He knew what she was thinking, he knew what they were all thinking. But he wouldn’t do it, he wouldn’t even contemplate it.

Even after everything they were still his brothers. Even Techno was still his brother. They wouldn’t do this.

“What did you tell Schlatt about Dream,“ Tommy changed the subject abruptly, ignoring the way Tubbo eyed him.

“Told him the truth,” Quackity shrugged nonchalantly, “Dream’s a bastard, he’ll find the one thing that’s most important to you, the one thing you absolutely don’t want to give up and that’s what he’ll demand. He's an asshat like that.”

Tommy snickered dryly at that, trying to let his amusement at someone badmouthing Dream wash away the ugly rot of paranoia that was sitting beneath his skin. Tubbo only sighed.

“Do you know what that might be for Schlatt? What's something he absolutely would not want to give up?” Tubbo’s look was intense as he asked the question. Quackity blinked and frowned, clearly delving deep into thought.

“I’m not sure honestly. His power maybe? He doesn’t like to submit to anyone, to be  **lower** than anyone. I wouldn’t be shocked if Dream wanted him to hand over the presidency or like… make Manberg a city state under the rule of the SMP.”

“Uhg, that would make Eret the king.” Tommy groaned, voice twisted with disgust. Tubbo shot him a look that was probably meant to be scathing but mostly just looked bemused.

“Really? Eret becoming king of Manberg is what you're worried about in that scenario?” his voice was riddled with traces of his smile.

“He's an asshole and a traitor! He doesn’t deserve it,” Tommy waved his arms to emphasize his statement and Niki gave a small giggle at the dramatics of it all.

“Yeah, yeah, Eret sucks, Schlatt sucks, Manberg is in peril. You know what else is in peril? My will to live if someone doesn’t feed me soon,” Quackity groaned, clutching his stomach.

“Yeah, I think some food is in order to welcome our new member,” Niki said brightly, clapping her hands together. There was a round of agreements, the mood lightening over the three.

They turned as a group, walking deeper into the ravine to find a meal to share, voices raised in boisterous comradery. A cacophony of noise and laughter that had been missing in the stone walls for so very long.

None of them noticed the figure lurking in the tunnel, listening in to their conversation A hand clamped over his mouth the muffle any sound that could come from it, long since having grown distrusting of his own body.

Techno sank slowly to the floor onto the puddle of his cape and worked to control his breathing as their words filtered back to him, the unspoken part ringing in his ears loudest of all. The words no one had said but everyone had been thinking.

_ “There's a traitor among us” _

* * *

The storm that had sparked on the horizon was rolling steadily towards them now, dark bruise purple clouds growing more and more visible as they spanned across the sky. Instead of hunkering down further however, Pogtopia lifted their heads to the sky with eyes turned towards the clouds.

Waiting for the first drops of rain.

* * *

Techno was taking a nighttime walk of his own volition for once. Quackity’s addition to Pogtopia had changed its atmosphere. No longer were the ghosts Tubbo and Tommy, but instead both Wilbur and Techno were seldom seen in the ravine, creeping through it like they did not belong.

It felt like they didn’t belong sometimes, what with the way laughter turned hushed and suspicious eyes trailed after them, fixed on their backs. Techno sometimes wondered if the others believed they could divine his intent just by staring at him hard enough.

But with Quackity came the feeling that everyday they were creeping closer to that final confrontation with Manberg. It was a crawling sensation, the knowledge that one way or another this would all be over.

Techno dreamed that it ended with his blade in his brothers' throats.

So he walked, unable to find rest as he paced nervously through the surrounding woods, guarding them from any attacker who would seek to sneak up on them in the night.

And it was on one of these walks that he spied Wilbur emerging from Pogtopia. 

He paused for a moment, in the pitch dark shadow of a tree, keen eyes watching as Wilbur’s moon silvered face glanced around suspiciously, clearly checking for onlookers. Then he lifted the collar of his brown jacket around his ears and hustled off into the forest, shoulders hunched.

Techno was a man who minded his own lane... but he felt in this one instance he could make an exception.

He gave chase, staying maybe twenty or so feet back so as not to be heard by Wilbur. Not that he should have worried. His brother was almost obnoxiously loud, despite clearly trying to be stealthy. He crashed through undergrowth and seemed determined to trod on every single stick in the forest. 

Techno sighed softly as he ghosted along behind him. Some day he would have to teach Wilbur to be quieter when he moved.

Suddenly Wilbur stopped, standing in a nondescript clearing with clear expectation in his posture. Techno crept closer, using dappled shadows and sturdy trunks to conceal himself from sight as he drew into hearing range. He settled down to wait, since clearly Wilbur wasn’t going anywhere--

He tensed when a second figure entered the clearing.

_ Dream _ .

“Hello Soot!” Dream called jovially, waving at the other man, his mask a cheerful smile as always.

“Dream, why did you call me here,” Wilbur’s voice was taught, as tightly strung as his shoulders. Dream seemed almost too relaxed however, sighing and rolling his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Always right to the point with you. Why can't we banter like the old days?” He tilted his head to the side, studying Wilbur.

Wilbur didn’t respond and Dream gave another exaggerated sigh, heaving his shoulders with the breath.

“Fiiiine. The reason I called you out here is that unfortunately I can no longer aid you or Pogtopia in your rebellion.” Silence descended on the clearing after those words.

“What,” Wilbur bit out slowly, hands pulled from his pockets and shifting to his sides where his weapons lurked.

“Schlatt made me an offer, asked me to support him instead,” Dream shrugged like it wasn’t that big of a deal but Techno could see his eyes glinting through the holes in his mask. Could envision a smug smirk on his face.

“I-we- _ you _ ,” Wilbur fumbled, “I swore to be your vassel! I swore and you agreed to help! You can't do this!”

“Actually Soot, I think you’ll find I very much can. In fact I think you’ll find there's very little I  _ can't _ do.” Wilbur growled at the words, voice filled with rage and Techno wished in that moment he could see his brother's face.

“What did he give you?” Wilbur asked, voice low and dark.

“Hm?”

“What did he give you, what could he  _ possibly _ have that was valuable enough to buy your loyalty when I offered to wipe that entire fucking nation off the map,” Techno could see Wilbur’s hands trembling from where he lurked as his voice grew louder and louder. Rage in every syllable. His own spine went tense at the words however, freezing him in place. 

_ That _ was how Wilbur had gotten Dream's help?

“Hmm, well,” Dream tapped one rounded cheek of his mask as he thought, “That’s a secret between the two of us.”

“You,” Wilbur took a menacing step forward and suddenly Dreams playful aura dissolved like wet paper. His axe was in his hand in an instant, its blade angled towards Wilbur.

“Careful Soot. I think you might have forgotten your place. See, I'm the World Owner. Everything here is mine, it all belongs to  **me** .” Dream snarled, taking a step of his own towards Wilbur. “But every one of you  _ fucking _ assholes seems for have  _ forgotten _ that little fact. Did you hear that Skeppy, Bad and Antfrost have all moved out of Manberg to form their own little nation? The Badlands they’re calling it.”

Dream scoffed and took another step forward, Techno summoning his crossbow to his hands and rising slightly, tensed to intercede.

“You and your rebellion,  _ you _ started all of this.  _ No one _ would have thought about leaving the SMP kingdom if  _ you _ hadn’t put the idea in their heads. Now everyone's scattering to the four winds and fighting over land that is already  **_mine_ ** **.”** Dream’s voice was growing in volume and Techno had begun to creep forward quietly.

“So that’s it, huh?” Wilbur's voice was dry as a desert. “You’re just trying to bring unity back to your world. Make peace between everyone, is that it?”

“That’s  _ always _ what I’ve been trying to do,” Dream took another step forward, almost in swinging distance of Wilbur.

“That’s funny…. because to me, it looks like  _ all your shit is starting to fall apart _ ,” Wilbur leered and Techno saw a flinch travel through Dream’s shoulders. The man's next step was a lunge, his axe swinging for Wilbur's throat, eyes glittering with  _ rage _ behind his mask--

Techno caught it on a hastily summoned shield with a loud  **_CLANG_ ** .

He shoved back, forcing Dream to stumble a few feet away, axe wrenched hastily from the wood of the shield. He took a defensive stance now, both hands on the shaft of his weapon as the two warriors eyed each other warily, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Techno summoned his own axe, the dark purpled netherite glowing with the numerous enchantments layered over it.

“Back off Dream,” he rumbled warningly, spinning the axe deftly in his grip. Dream bounced on the balls of his feet, fingers flexing on his axe handle.

“Ah well,  _ look _ who it is! The so very  _ loyal _ brother,” he sneered sardonically and Techno felt his shoulders cringe at the insinuation in the comment.  _ Did that mean that Dream knows? _ He shuddered at the thought.

“I believe he said to back off, Dream,” Wilbur leaned around his brother, his own sword thankfully in his grasp.

Dream remained still, mask glinting eerily in the moonlight, a pure white disc with no feeling or emotion betrayed. 

Then finally his axe fell.

“Your rebellion is standing on the most volatile kind of foundation, Wilbur Soot. Better make sure it doesn’t collapse,” Dream hissed softly, head turning to look clearly between the two brothers. Then he turned and swept back into the trees, the greenery swallowing him whole.

Silence followed, the two remaining men standing stock still, listening and waiting for a sign that Dream was going to lash out at them again, that this meeting wasn’t quite over yet. Then when nothing came Wilbur gave a loud snarl of rage and whipped around hacking at a tree with his sword over and over with muffled cries of rage.

Techno stepped back, watching the scene with wary eyes. Hand clenching around his axe shaft as Wilbur came undone before him.

It was a sentiment he shared however. Some of the fragile hope in his chest crumbled with Dream’s leaving, with the realization that the only person on this server who could have really stood between him and his brothers had turned to Schlatt’s side as well.

Techno felt sick.

“Technoblade,” Techno looked up sharply, watching his brothers back. Wilbur’s shoulders were heaving with exertion and emotion, his sword was buried fully in the bark of the tree and he was leaning against it.

“Yeah Wilbur,” he asked slowly, voice low and flat. Wilbur's shoulders started shaking and Techno jolted, taking a step forward with his hand out, reaching to comfort his brother.

But he wasn’t crying.

He was laughing.

Wilbur threw his head back, insane laughter filled the clearing, a cackle thrown almost like a challenge to the heavens themselves. Techno recoiled, a sudden coil of fear sparking down his spine.

Dark eyes and curled horns, a sneer and booze soaked breath. “Bark Techno, Bark”

“Oh Techno,  _ oooh _ Techno,” Wilbur’s laughter was trailing off, but the malice in his tone hadn’t faded even a little. He turned to look at his brother finally, eyes like swirling empty pits.

“I'm going to blow it all up Techno, I'm going to send it all sky high!” Wilbur giggled as if his words were the funniest joke he’d ever heard. Techno swallowed thickly, trying to regain some of his composure.

“I thought you wanted it back, that you wanted to complete your symphony?” he asked softly, hyper aware of the distance between him and his brother.

“Oh, I do,” Wilbur smiled toothily, “I most certainly do, dear Techno. But if I can't have it,  _ no one can _ .”

Techno shuddered again, his armor rattling softly with the movement. It only seemed to focus Wilbur’s dark attention on him more as the other man stepped closer, smile wide.

“Techno,” Wilbur hummed, “You have some Wither skulls don’t you?”

“I do,” Techno responded, “Are you sure you want to use them?”

Wilbur smiled, “Never hurts to be prepared, brother mine.”

* * *

Thunder began to roll, shaking them down to their bones. But still Pogtopia stood, defiant in the face of the growing gale. Watching and waiting, eyes sparking with a hunger for battle.

Lighting flashed again, striking the ground a second time.

* * *

“Wilbur,” from the inside of his black jacket, the fox-boy pulled a small brown booklet. He tossed it onto the floor in front of him, “Would you mind reading this for me?”

Wilbur bent down to pick the booklet up and flipped it open as Quackity and Tommy looked on with pensive expressions. Wilbur hummed thoughtfully, a hand lifting to press a finger to his lips as if he was studying some interesting poetry as opposed to… whatever the booklet actually contained.

“A Spy’s Diary written by an Anonymous Author,” Wilbur read out loud, a small smile spreading across his lips, “Fundy? Did you do this?”

Fundy also smiled although some of his confidence was marred by the almost desperate edge to his expression.

“I have,” he stated proudly and Wilbur chuckled, flicking through the booklet and beginning to read aloud from it.

“Schlatt has a severe addiction to alcohol and cigarettes to suppress his aching body. He is unwilling to get it checked due to his pride. If the symptoms progress it may prove fatal. He cannot swim due to some form of muscle atrophy and takes protein and muscle supplements to maintain some level of strength. He seems to get weaker by the day,” Wilbur listed off, eyes intense. His smile only widened as his eyes flicked over the next part.

“Schlatt is surprisingly unaware of the concerns and the state of Manberg. He is unaware that currently he stands alone. His strength is a façade.” Wilbur didn’t look up, his eyes practically sparkling.

“YES,” Quackity yells, “I FUCKING KNEW IT!”

“Fundy, I thought you were the only person on Schlatt’s team?” Wilbur was still flicking through the book, eyes absorbing the information that lay therein. Fundy straightened, tail sweeping behind him nervously as he lifted his chin.

“Schlatt thinks so too,” he responded ominously and Quackity laughed again, bounding forward to slap Fundy on the back and almost knocked the other boy off the wooden gangway they stood on in the process.

“Wait wait wait, so does Schlatt have  _ any _ teammates?” Wilbur’s voice was growing in energy, growing in excitement. “Does he have  _ anyone _ on his side?!”

“Schlatt is currently, as spoken, completely alone. All of the citizens left are concerned with his behavior and  _ no one _ stands at his side. He is literally at his weakest point,” Fundy declared, meeting his father's eyes. Wilbur’s face practically glowed.

Suddenly a small sound made everyone turn around, lurking by one of the stairs was a distinctive dark skinned figure, covered in enchanted diamond armor. With a surprised shout, the crossbow that Tommy had been holding jerked up again and Bad ducked with a yelp as a bolt went flying and buried itself into the stone behind him.

“Wait-“ he cried but was overrun as both Quackity and Tommy roared at the sight of him.

“INTRUDER, THERE'S AN INTRUDER IN THE BASE! GET HIM OUT!” They both lunged, weapons drawn, for Bad, who drew his own sword and stood his ground.

Then Wilbur grabbed Tommy’s arm and yanked him back.

“STOP, both of you,” he shouted, his face still grinning widely. Quackity froze and Tommy looked up at his brother with a confused expression.

“Wilbur-“ Tommy started cautiously but Wilbur instead stepped forward.

“Don’t you see,” he said almost reverently, “don’t you see what him being here means?”

He turned to meet the eyes of the Pogtopians but they only watched him warily. He laughed, a harsh and high laugh.

“It means that Schlatt is alone, Schlatt is entirely alone now,” he glanced back over his shoulder at Bad who was almost looking like he wanted to be elsewhere.

“You’re here to join us aren’t you?” Wilbur asked, stepping closer to the other player. The man grimaced, slightly but dusted himself off in an attempt to appear unruffled.

“The Badlands would like to formally extend an offer of an alliance, as long as it is mutually beneficial,” his voice was very official as he spoke, as if the words were rehearsed. Wilbur’s smile seemed to impossibly widen at the words.

“As the leader of Pogtopia, I humbly accept your offer,” he reached out and grabbed Bad’s hand shaking it firmly.

* * *

The storm began to open, the strong scent of petrichor and wet earth sweeping across the land. The first few drops of rain began to splatter across the ground, and with it came Pogtopia. The time was upon them and they knew it, could sense it, could  _ smell _ it.

They knew it like they knew the cold of the first droplets of rain upon their cheeks.

* * *

Energy grows by the day in Pogtopia.

What once was a quietly echoing ravine is now a bustling hive of activity. The fighters from the Badlands come and go, constantly meeting with Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo and Quackity, discussing plans and resources.

Niki and Fundy are likewise busy, gathering supplies and reaching out to everyone near and far, trying to scrounge up any last minute allies, or at least collect promises of nonaggression. Techno meanwhile has finished up his vault and he finds himself a ghost within Pogtopia, lurking but never close enough to truly listen or be included.

If his absence is noted, no one mentions it. There is no attempt made to contact him and draw him into the discussions of strategy and tactics. Wilbur finds him occasionally and delivers the information taken from the meetings in great bundles that Techno then picks through and critiques. He wonders if Wilbur tells the others who exactly is modifying their plans.

….Honestly, he doubts it.

Wilbur is distracted these days, his eyes dark and lost in thought and planning. He only thinks of Manberg now, and of the TNT he’d confessed to being hidden underneath the city. An entire nation sitting on stacks and stacks of TNT, and they don’t even know it.

Techno had done as Wilbur asked and collected the necessary materials for two withers, packed into a hidden chest that he hopes will never see the light of day again. He prays they will not need the Withers or the TNT, but his hope is waning.

He doesn’t care what happens to Manberg or its people anymore, he just wants to take his brothers and go home.

With the Vault and its contents complete, save for the time needed to finish brewing a few potions, there's only a few things left to do. A few loose ends Techno intends to tie up at least somewhat.

The first is easy, it visits him a few times a week.

The next time Wilbur appears by the cowpit, arms full of maps and papers Techno sits, waiting patiently. Mind swirling thickly with everything he wants to say. Techno has long since grown from the bumbling teenager who struggled to vocalize the internal complexity of his thoughts. He may not be the most verbal in his family, but he’s learned to mull over his words and drop them like stones in a pond, each one carefully weighed so its impact is measured with exactitude.

“Techno, I know you vetoed the idea of a dog army, but Tommy brought up some interesting points this week and I just wanted to-” he stopped, and then looked up slowly, as if subconsciously recognizing the different atmosphere hanging around Techno tonight. “What's going on? What happened.?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to talk a little, about something other than the attack.” Techno patted the grass beside him in invitation and Wilbur threw him a very wary look. He sat slowly, dumping the papers into a pile beside himself, heedless of the damp that was probably marring the words carelessly scrawled on them.

“Okay… what did you want to say?” Wilbur asked, the impatience in his tone stinging just a little. Techno swallowed the feeling though. He’d shoved down worse pains in these past few weeks.

“I wanted… I wanted to say a few things to you. Just in case something happens when we attack.” He started and Wilbur immediately engaged fully in the conversation.

“You aren’t going to die,” he snapped, “There's no one on this server that can even  _ dent _ you, not even  _ Dream _ could put a scratch on you.”

Techno thought of Schlatt, of his drunken rage at being denied intel that Techno avoided collecting. The intel he would gather if he was ever invited to those planning meetings. He thought of a fist across his face that he could neither dodge or retaliate against.

“I'm not sure about how true that is,” he inhaled and shuffled, “Nonetheless, I have a few things I’d like to say.”

Wilbur was silent for a long moment, studying him intently. He nodded slowly. Techno took a long slow inhale, trying to settle his thoughts into order.

“Whatever happens,” Techno began, licking his lips, “Whatever happens, I want you to know that I’m so glad I got to be your brother. That I got to listen to your music and listen to you ramble about eating sand-“ Wilbur snorted and Techno grinned, “Eat sand for like forty minutes. Im glad that you’ve… you’ve stood by me and believed in me these last few weeks and I’d be honored if my last fight were by your side. For your cause.”

There was so much more he wanted to say, so much he could say. Words about betrayal lingered on his lips, promises that even if it looked like he was turning on Wilbur that it wasn’t of his own volition. But Wilbur wouldn’t understand, and words wouldnt be able to sufficiently soften the blow..

So Techno kept his mouth shut and simply watched Wilburs expression soften and some of the warmth return to his eyes.

“I’m glad, Techno, and I… it's been an honor to fight this fight beside you. I wouldn’t have picked anyone else.” He returned, reaching a hand out to clasp Techno’s shoulder.

Techno smiled softly, one down, two to go.

His next target was a bit wilier and wouldn’t walk up to him so readily. He had to be caught alone as well which was a challenge unto itself.

Techno felt fortunate that with all his lurking, few people seemed to even register his presence in Pogtopia anymore, walking past him as if he were just one with the scenery. It didn’t bother him. In fact in this case it aided him as he watched Tommy exit the group sitting around the fireplace enjoying a meal. Wandering off back to his room to turn in early with a few words of farewell.

It was the eve of their plan now and everyone was celebrating, trying to bump up their spirits in the hopes that the good mood would carry them through the violence sure to occur tomorrow. He watched them eat and drink and share stories, raucously declaring all the ways they would find victory over their foes and felt none of the warmth they were trying to generate.

He huffed and crossed the catwalks until he stood above the entrance to Tommy’s room and dropped down almost soundlessly from above, sliding smoothly into the shadows of the doorway. He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed him, then slipped into the room after his brother.

“Sorry Tubbo, just feeling tired. Figured I sh- TECHNOBLADE,” Tommy yowled, removing his armor as he spoke and dropping his helm with a cacophonous crash that made Techno cringe. He placed his finger to his lips but Tommy was clearly too young to understand the universal sign for hush.

“WHAT THE  _ FUCK _ TECHNOBLADE, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY FUCKING  _ ROOM _ YOU FUCKING WEIRDO IS THIS SOME KIND OF ASSAS-“ Techno lunged forward and slapped a hand over Tommy’s mouth to cut him off.

“Shhhhhhhhhh,” he hissed, pausing to listen for anyone coming to investigate the ruckus as Tommy clawed at his hand and gave muffled shouts of protest.

When he heard nothing he turned back to his brother, red eyes wide.

“Just… stay quiet. I just need to talk to you,” he slowly removed his hand, maintaining eye contact, “please.”

Tommy remained silent for a long moment, face scrunched up in thought before he exhaled sharply.

“Well get on with it then Big T” He waved a hand and Techno cringed at how loud his brother still was. But that was probably as good as he was going to get. He huffed in amusement then began.

“Whatever happens tomorrow, I just wanted you to know that I’m glad you are my brother and joined our family, I love you and…” he trailed off, “and I'm sorry about Tubbo. I'm so,  _ so _ sorry Tommy.”

The words were short and sweet and once again not even half of what Techno wanted to say. But they were the most important things he had to say. Tommy stood frozen by them.

“D-do,” he stopped and swallowed, “Do you really mean that Techno?”

“Yes, of course,” Techno sunk as much gravity into the words as he could. Something shifted in Tommy's eyes, a glimpse behind the loud bravado to see the scared child hiding underneath. Tommy fidgeted for a long moment looking unsure, like he just didn’t know what to do with the information and how it made him feel.

Then he flung himself forwards and gave Techno a quick hug. It was just the briefest squeeze of warmth, but it rattled Techno more than it should. It had been so long since his littlest brother had touched him willingly.

“Thanks Big T,” Tommy stepped away, arms crossed and gaze averted, a pink blush of embarrassment at the sappiness of the moment dusting his cheeks. Techno couldn't have felt more content than he did in that moment.

“Anytime, little guy,” he said softly, reaching out to ruffle Tommy’s hair. The boy squawked indignantly, hands flying up to pat it down again and Techno chuckled. The feeling so delightfully reminiscent of days long gone past.

“Glad we talked, “ he then turned to leave, bailing before the moment could be spoiled by someone walking in to find them. He failed to notice Tommy’s open mouth behind him, words dying stillborn on the teen's lips as whatever he was about to say to his older brother fell into anonymity.

Would it have changed the outcome?

Probably not.

But that’s part of hindsight isn’t it? Wondering if just a single word could have changed everything...

* * *

_ Philza, _

_ Dad… _

_ I'm writing this to you because I just had a few things I wanted to say, and that I think a visit to the farm is in order soon. _

_ Do you have any orphaned calves?... _

* * *

The sky opens like a gash, pouring out rain onto the ground in a massive deluge. Puddles formed rapidly, spilling down hillsides and overflowing the banks of the river as the ground could not cope with the sudden influx of liquid.

The water was a roaring force, crashing against wood and stone and earth as the sky above it howled and shrieked, tearing at the tops of trees and mountains with invisible fingers.

The storm had come and with it came all of its snarling, raging fury, drenching the land and darkening the sky to pitch black with only the sparks of lightning and determined torches to light the way for the creatures of the earth.

Wilbur Soot stood beneath a tree on a hill overlooking the forest, his hand resting on the trunk of the oak as it moaned pitifully. Straining against the forces that would see it uprooted.

Wilbur watched the storm ravage the land, his hair plastered to his head by water and he smiled.

For in his eyes a storm was breaking as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate c!dream me and all my homies hate c!dream
> 
> As always thanks to the lovely Feliadox whose works you should check out. They are instrumental in the continued production of this fic.  
> They also encourage my use of metaphors, i love metaphors dont @ me.
> 
> Thank you all for being patient and your kind words on the last chapters. I dont respond to everything but rest assured i read it all and then scroll back through it to fuel myself when my determination drags.


	5. thus always to tyrants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you

Dawn broke over the horizon of a world washed clean. It was not in the soft gentle way a light shower washes the world, creating a dawn filled with sparkling water droplets and revitalized growth. 

It was the violent kind of washing that scrubs out stains and makes everything look like it was entirely new. The kind of storm that carves new creeks into the earth, changes the faces of cliff and topples trees that are many many years old. The world is molded anew, the landscape itself changed in the aftermath of the storm in ways that can never truly be undone. 

The river itself no longer flows lazily but rushes, pounding against its banks with all the impatience of a race horse in the gates, rumbling with the desire to be set free from its confines, to overflow its banks once more and sweep its surroundings clear.

The land wakes up changed on the dawn of the 16th and those who wake up with it view it as nothing less than a divine sign of things to come. 

Techno emerges from the water of his hidden base with a trident in hand and stands on the shore, overlooking what has changed around his lake. The water is murkier, the mud and silt stirred up from the agitated current and debris litters the shores. Logs and branches and various other detritus that was swept down river and ended up here. He scans the scene and then tilts his head skyward, eyes closed as he breathes the fresh dawn air in deeply.

The moment stretches for him, hair thin and breakable. He wants to stay here forever, to not move forward at all for fear of what he might find beyond that distant horizon. 

But time waits for no one and his peace is snapped by the chime of his communicator. He pulls it out and looks at the message from Tommy asking where he is. Inhaling, he doesn’t respond, instead choosing to pocket the device and begin his trudge to Pogtopia. 

Today is the day of revolution, and Techno’s hope for it is as fragile as his moment of peace.

Stepping into Pogtopia is akin to walking into a wall of sound. The ravine echoes with crashes and shouts as its residents prepare themselves up for battle and bicker between each other over gear.

He stands in the shadows on the staircase, watching and studying the army who means to reclaim L’manberg with keen eyes.

A newcomer in expensive dress clothes and dark sunglasses stands between Niki and Quackity, murmuring softly to them. The three are picking over a pile of crooked arrows, trying to sort out the entirely unusable from the decent enough ones.

Tubbo and Tommy are standing a stone's throw away, inspecting the enchanted crossbow that Tommy always carried with him. 

Beyond them, Wilbur and Fundy are in another conversation, Wilbur pouring over Fundy’s spy book as the man offers him some much more detail and insight into a few of its entries. 

Lastly, the crew from the Badlands stands apart from the rest. Bad, Skeppy, Antfrost and Sam all watched the chaos unfold with skeptical expressions. Of everyone here, they are the obviously most geared with not one but two Tridents strapped to Sam’s back and Netherite covering their bodies and their weapons.

Compared to them the motley Pogtopia crew look ripe for the slaughter.

Techno hums softly to himself and steps further down the stars, the light of the lamps washing over him as he did, his gaze tracking over the people gathered below. 

Sam was the first to notice him, his beetle black eyes set into mottled green skin, glittering in the torchlight. Without breaking eye contact he elbowed Antfrost, causing the Siamese cat to look up with confusion before his own blue gaze settled. 

An electric sort of understanding passed between the three in that moment, that flicker of acknowledgement Mob Players tended to have towards one another. This was the closest Techno had ever been to the other two since he’d joined the server and suddenly he yearned deeply for the chance to have met them on the same ground earlier.

But Techno was not in the business of lingering over the past and he broke that staring contest to look for his brothers.

“Guys,” he called out, his low voice drowned out by the cacophony of conversation below him, “guys!”

His second shout was heard this time and people fell silent as they turned in unison to look up at him. Most looked unsettled, nervous even, shifting beneath his steely gaze uncomfortably. Only Tommy and Wilbur seemed unaffected, Tommy’s glare was less acidic than before but still fierce, and a wide manic grin decorated Wilbur’s face.

“Techno!” he called out, pushing the spybook into the lining of his great brown coat and bolting for the stairs, taking them almost two at a time. Techno felt himself pull away as Wilbur drew level with him, nervously eyeing the dark sparks and thunder that roiled in his older brother’s eyes. The storm from last night bottled within their depths, devastating and barely contained.

“Wilbur,” he acknowledged swallowing his fears and instead nodding to the other man. He looked out over the crowd again, trying to make as much eye contact as he could with the people standing there.

“I have something I want to show you, follow me,” he turned to leave when Tommy’s voice interrupted him.

“Wait, hold on Big Man, we still have to sort out supplies and stock up! Today's the big day!”

Techno paused and shot Tommy a long, carefully blank look.

“I know,” he grunted then turned and led the way back up the stairs. He heard some arguments picking up behind him, but ignored them in favor of striding along. They would follow, they were nothing if not curious. 

He waited beside the river as the group spilled out of the small dirt opening, Wilbur standing beside him bouncing on the balls of his feet and tapping his hands against his sides. Energy practically seeping from his skin. Techno turned to jokingly tell him to sit still when he jerked instinctively, an arrow flying past where his head had been to splash into the river behind him.

With a snarl he followed its trajectory to find Dream, Punz and Sapnap all standing on the hill above the opening to Pogtopia, an empty crossbow in Sapnap’s hands. 

“Well well well, look who we have here? It’s the Reject squad. A bunch of hasbeens and nobodies who are mad they aren’t the ones wielding power anymore,” Dream sneered, his arms crossed. The derision in his tone was unmistakable and several people in the gathered crowd bristled angrily.

“Come down here and say those words to my face BITCH!” Tommy snarled, shaking an axe in Dream’s direction. 

“Yeah, come down here and let me punt you pendejo,” Quackity stepped up to Tommy’s side despite his complete lack of chest piece or shirt. Techno would’ve felt amused at their bravado if Dream and his goons didn’t look like a triad of warlords from Techno’s time ruling the Antarctic Empire. 

Everything on their persons shimmered with that purplish blue hue of aether. The heavy glow of numerous enchants laid over one another. Their weapons were obviously professional crafts, their armor as well had the kind of flourish to it that only a true craftsman would add. Everything was Netherite purple and Techno watched Sapnap reload the empty crossbow, except this time with a firework.

There were a lot of people here, but only a few had full Netherite sets, even less of those were fully enchanted. The rest had an assortment of diamond and iron, if they had armor at all. Then there was the question of weapons. He knew the people around him only had whatever weapons they could grab. He was fairly sure that Niki’s axe was meant for tree cutting, not fighting, and had the wear and tear to prove it.

The Badlanders were the most equipped but he could see even they were shifting nervously, watching the group with wary eyes. Dream, Sapnap and Punz were formidable foes on their own….

But together they were downright  _ deadly _ .

Beyond that, everyone still had a healthy fear of Dream.

Up until now, the Admin hadn’t really flexed his god powers on the server. Rumor stated that he hadn’t even used them in the war for L’manberg’s independence. But while he hadn’t used them yet, no one trusted that he would never use them. It was a matter of  _ when, _ not  _ if _ .

It seemed that as underweaponed as they were, no one wanted to see if Dream’s patience ended right here right now.

“Dream,” Techno rumbled, exhaling ominously and hefting his massive battleaxe in both hands. Dream, whose mask had been tilted in Tommy and Quackity’s direction, turned the expressionless porcelain in his direction. Techno bared his tusks. 

The Admin chuckled then waved a hand, both of the men at his sides relaxing slightly.

“I'm not here to fight, just here to see what I’ll be facing later.”

“Reconnaissance,” Sapnap tacked on and the two shared a mutual amused look.

“Exactly, that,” Dream snapped his fingers before turning his attention back to the collective below him, “Although I have to say I’m underwhelmed. All this time to prepare and you guys look like you just stumbled out of a peaceful realm” he tsked.

“Well fuck you too,” Tommy yelled and the almost inhuman speed Dream showed when he snapped his mask towards Techno’s youngest brother had him tensing to move forward. Afraid for Tommy’s safety. The moment of tension dissipated as Dream relaxed once more, his menacing aura thinning.

“I also felt that in the spirit of our previous alliance, I could share some intel with you,” Dream spun his axe gracefully in his hand. Almost bored looking.

“I don’t think there's any shit we want to hear if it's spewed from you,” Tommy snapped and Dream’s mask tilted slowly to the side.

“Really? I thought you’d be very interested to hear that there's a traitor in your midst?” 

Chaos broke out at the words, people began to murmur, glancing at one another nervously. The words gripped Techno’s heart and  _ squeezed _ . He was frozen as Pogtopia’s army began to glare suspiciously at each other, the question in everyone's eyes.

_ Who is it, who is the traitor? _

“Who? Who is it?” Quackity yelled, glancing back at Eret, who tensed under the scrutiny, hands clenching around his swords hilt.

“Oh? I thought you said you didn’t  _ want _ to hear anything I had to say?” Dream tapped his mask thoughtfully. 

“Just tell us who it is, Dream,” Tubbo demanded, anger in his tone as he glared up at Dream. The green dressed man only laughed, summoning an ender pearl to his hands.

Techno could only watch, unable to force himself to move as Sapnap and Punz also summoned their own pearls. Bouncing them in their hands like they were nothing more than hacky sacks.

“You know what?” Dream tossed the pearl, caught it, then pulled his arm back, “I don’t think I will.”

Shouts rang out as Dream, Punz and Sapnap all tossed their pearls over the horizon and vanished in flashes of purple sparks. Behind them, the once united army of Pogtopia now milled in an uneasy group. Every person watching their neighbor as if the traitor would spring out and start stabbing all of them that instant.

Techno knew he wouldn’t though, he knew that the traitor wouldn’t reveal himself because he knew who the traitor was. It was  _ him _ , but  _ none of them knew it. _

He'd been hoping and praying no one would find out, that by some miracle they could kill Schlatt and he would be free from all of this, free to go home. He didn’t want his brothers to look at him with betrayal in their eyes, not like Tommy had done after the Festival. 

Seeing that again might be more than he could bear. 

Clearly though, Schlatt had shared the identity of his little spy with his new partner. Had he told Dream why Techno was serving Schlatt? Had he told him about Techno’s weakness? The thought of that sent more chills down his spine and he had to harshly repress the shaking in his limbs. 

“Techno?” Shocked out of his thoughts, he glanced over at Wilbur who still stood at his side and looked far more serious now.

“You said you had something to show us?” he prompted and Techno swallowed. 

“Yes,” he finally spoke, pleased that his voice was so even and controlled, “Yes, I did.”

“Follow me,” he commanded those around him, ignoring the glares sent his way as he began to walk again. 

It wasn’t over yet, his identity hadn’t been revealed and there was still a chance of victory. Dream had seen the Pogtopians before Techno had a chance to outfit them. He thought he was going to be fighting a ragtag group of tunnel dwellers, not the army Techno intended to turn them into.

There was still a chance of victory if he could get them armed and ready, geared up enough to be able to take on even him.

...He hoped.

His lake was nearby, the water still a murky brown when the group arrived. They stood on the hillside, watching as Techo paced along the shore, trying to catch sight of the entrance to his lair. He ignored their whispering, the weight of their stares on his cloaked back, focused entirely on the lakebed.

He had to stay focused, he couldn't slip now. Not when everything hung in the balance. 

With a grunt he saw the tell tale signs of bubbles and without a word dove into the water, head submerging as shouts echoed along the shore. He swam down in powerful strokes and dug into the soil, pulling it away to reveal the tunnel. With it wide enough the light from the room below shone through the murk he twisted, bracing his feet against the mud and pushing off back towards the surface.

He broke with a gasp, looking around to see the eyes watching him from the shore. 

“Well?” he shouted, “Come on then,”

Wilbur laughed and waded into the water, heedless of the waves soaking his clothes as he began to swim out to Techno, followed closely by Eret and Tommy. Soon the others were stepping into the water as well and Techno ducked beneath the surface again and swam back down to his tunnel. 

He pulled himself into the tunnel and down into his base, stepping from the waterfall and into the small room he'd carved into the rock. He stepped away swiftly as people began to tumble out of the waterfall, sopping wet and tracking puddles onto the floor.

“Whoa, you have your own base Big T? I wondered where you were always running off to!” Tommy yelled, jerking open a chest and leaning over it to peer at its contents.

Techno strode over and slammed the chest shut, “ That’s my stuff.”

“Little bit small aint it?” Quackity commented, already looking through another chest, Wilbur pulling out a bundle of arrows from it with a delighted exclamation.

“I- hey stop looking through my things! I have stuff for you!” Techno huffed, although his voice was lost in all the excited chatter as the small space was stuffed with excited people happily rifling through his things. 

With an exasperated growl, Techno shoved his way through the crowd toward his enchanting room and shoving aside one of the bookcases to reveal a ladder. The grinding sound of the moved case caught more attention than his shouting had and he wordlessly descended the ladder, hearing the footsteps and voices following him.

He enters the blackstone vault he built, the chests lining the walls with signs detailing their contents. Armor stands line the back wall, Netherite professionally crafted and enchanted by himself. They glitter in the lamp light, illuminating the weeks and weeks of work. 

There are sounds of shock, awe, admiration behind him. When he turns he sees unity in their ranks once more, smiles on their faces and fire in their eyes. He feels relief once again grasp at him. This looks like an army, this looks like a group of people who can  _ fucking win. _

“Take what you need, take everything! Here in this room are the armaments of war,” he roars and the Pogtopians echo his cry, furor in their voices. 

“The Blade Tommy,” Wilbur’s voice echoes above the chaos, Techno spies him grabbing their brother's shoulder and shaking him, excitedly, “We have the Blade!”

“Yes, the Blade,” Tommy shouts and Techno feels a conflicting sensation of warmth and terror in his chest. 

(He can't lose this, he  _ won't _ .)

He turns and pulls his crossbow off the wall, running hands along the sanded handle. Patting its end soothingly. He would burn this world to the ground for his brothers, he would killed everyone in this room if it meant they were safe.

This is one fight he wont lose.

He lowered the crossbow and fired, fireworks launched screaming into the red light of the setting sun and exploding around the fighters below with a tooth rattling bang. Almost immediately, a volley of flaming arrows arced from the ground and towards the group.

“GET DOWN,” Techno roared and immediately the people around him hit the deck, armor clanging against stone as they took cover from the arrows that pierced the stone around them. Beside him, Sam stood up and drew his arm back to launch his trident. A scream echoed from below and the blue metal returned with a metallic singing sound to Sam's grasp newly christened with blood. He ducked as an arrow made a bid for his head and Techno stood to return fire again.

Shouting and screaming surrounded him. Tubbo was wielding another crossbow with fireworks in it and Techno felt a grin curl his lips at the boy's devastating aim and gritted smile. His green eyes sparked with glee at each cry of pain, each shout of fear as they rain hell on Dream and Schlatt's forces. 

Beside Tubbo is Tommy, Dream's own crossbow in his grasp, enchanted to create a spray of arrows that pierce dirt and armor alike. He provides enough cover fire to ensure that those with the more devastating fireworks can launch shot after shot onto the people below the tower. Tommy's smile is wild, his eyes are ablaze and he gives a sharp bark of laughter each time a shot sinks home in a foe.

But most terrifying is  _ Wilbur _ . Wilbur who plants a foot on the low stone wall around the edge of their perch and draws a massive longbow back until it looks on the verge of snapping, then firing the flaming shots below with hawk eyed accuracy. He grabs arrows from the stonework around the, heedless of flames that lick at his fingers and returns them to their owners. All the while he's laughing, insane and manic and loud as he stands armorless, daring those below to strike him down.

“We need to move in, we need to push them back, they're running out of potions,” Quackity shouts, scooting along cover towards Techno and Wilbur. Wilbur doesn’t respond, simply drawing another arrow and firing but Techno nods. The other man is correct. 

He tosses potions of slow falling toward Tubbo, Tommy, and Quackity and nods over the low wall. 

“Cover us,” he grunts to Sam and the Badlands bunch before chugging the potion and slinging himself over the wall. Gravity scrabbles against him but the potion makes him feel weightless, like he's floating in the sea. He hears Tommy whoop excitedly and Tubbo shout in response as the two follow him but he doesn’t turn around, instead firing his crossbow again and again into the fighters below, trying to make sure no one stands up and fires at him while he drifts like a feather down to the ground.

When he lands and gravity takes hold again he doesn’t even fumble, swapping his crossbow for his axe and leaping over a mound of dirt that had been erected to protect the Manbergians from their fire. He has a moment to enjoy the white eyed terror in Sapnap and Ponk’s faces before he brings his axe down mercilessly, finally in the thick of it. Hot,  _ hot _ blood splashing across his face and chest as he cuts Sapnap a brand new smile. 

He doesn’t laugh, he's never laughed, but the thrill of adrenaline in him makes his body grow sing as he plants his hooves and swings at Ponk, catching his axe deep into the man's chest, puncturing his armor. Ponk gags, spewing bubbles of red spit, reeling back. 

Techno yanks at his axe, but it's wedged too deeply in bone and netherite. Conscious of the battle around him, he drops the axe and summons his sword, planting it through Ponk’s exposed neck and finishing the other man off so he disappears in a swirl of smoke. 

He pulls his axe free from the now empty armor and looks up to see Tommy wiping the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving behind a streak of blood. The two share a feral smile then turn towards the buildings that denote downtown Manberg, and begin the advance as the others in the tower spill out with a riot of shouts and projectiles.

The satisfaction of blood and battle rings in him, tempered only by a sense of paranoia that clings to his heart. He pauses after he forces George into a retreat and surveys the streets. 

There's no order here, and honestly it's hard to tell which side belongs to which. People clash between buildings violently, the shrieks of swords and axes meeting armor and the weapons of the blades ringing out. Dream summons and sets down an end crystal and the sight of it fills Techno's heart with dread as it explodes and sends Niki and Fundy flying. Thankfully it doesn’t spark a chain reaction, but Techno still takes a moment to  _ breathe _ .

Beyond that, a building is burning and Sapnap can be seen fending off Eret and Bad. The two are a horrible matchup and get in each other's way more than they help each other, giving Sap the upper hand as he pushes them back, lit up by the fiery building they are dancing near.

Sam is a monster with his tridents, piercing anyone who gets too close and summoning lighting to the ground like he himself is an Admin. Behind him Skeppy cackles madly, swinging his flaming netherite sword with glee and driving foes back from its bright blue heat. 

It's chaos, so many bodies colliding and drenching the ground in enough blood that combatants are starting to slip in it.

But there's no Schlatt. 

He makes eye contact with Wilbur across the field and he can see his question reflected in his brother's storm dark gaze.

_ Where the fuck is the president in all this?  _

Schlatt's absence makes Techno nervous, especially because they're  _ winning _ . Manberg's forces are faltering, many of them have lost lives and their regen potions are running low. He can see desperation in some of their eyes, disillusionment swimming into view.

So few of their foes are actual Manbergians. Most belong to the SMP and were brought here by Dream. They’re mercenaries fighting for a nation not their own and it's starting to show in their flagging enthusiasm. 

The tide of this battle is turning in Pogtopia’s favor and Techno feels no pull, no call to turn and slaughter his allies. 

The lack of it scares him more than it should, unsettling him deeply. 

To cover it up, he turns from Wilbur and goes to intercede in the losing fight with Sapnap, catching the man's axe before he can land a final blow on Eret and driving the dark haired man back with a flurry of quick strikes. 

He sees someone swoop in to help staunch Eret's wound out of the corner of his eye before he focuses on catching Sapnap's flaming axe with his shield. 

There's a fight to be finished and blood to be spilled. Techno will worry about Schlatt when it becomes a problem.

For now? Blood for the blood god is all he hears chanting in his ears to the drum of his own heartbeat.

Techno stands over Punz, axe lifted high and prepared to bring it down on the other man's skull when a flaming arrow bites through a chink in his armor and into his shoulder. Some enchantment on it causes him to stumble a few steps back with an angry grunt and he looks up to spy Dream with an empty bow standing several feet away. 

His distraction costs him as Punz rolls to his feet and sprints away with surprising agility for a man pretty severely injured. Then while he's busy watching Punz escape, he realizes Dream has also vanished.

A snarl rumbles like thunder from his chest as he reaches up and rips the arrow from his shoulder, heedless of the damage the head may have caused or the sparks of pain from the new wound. 

Instead he turns, red eyes hunting for another foe to cut down and stalls when he realizes something.

It's quiet.

He turns and looks around slowly, catching a glimpse of movement between two buildings. It’s the only movement he sees. Even the bloodstained grass is unsettlingly still.

Some of the bloodlust that tinted his vision fades at the quiet. The singular train of thought he had in a fight, the all consuming focus of defeating a foe and searching out the next one, gave way to more rational tactics. The ingrained grace of the eb and flow of a fight was muscle memory at this point and it was leaving him now.

Humming, he followed the movement, tracking it like a dog follows a scent. 

The scene he came upon brought him to a pause. The Pogtopians where gathered near a building, perched all around like a murder of crows. Weapons and glares trained on a singular entity that their bodies obscured from Techno’s vision.

He moves forward, pushing his way into the crowd almost gently until finally he caught a glimpse of why they had gathered. 

Dream and Wilbur stood opposite each other, bodies tense and defensive. Dream looked rough, soot and blood were smeared across his usually pristine mask and his green hoodie had holes burned into it and dark stains all up the sleeves. 

Wilbur looked just as ruffled, burns on his brown coat and ash in his hair. He looked quite a bit more triumphant than Dream, however.

“So? You said you wanted to meet?” Wilbur called out and Techno tensed at the words. He lightly shouldered Niki aside so he could stand next to Tommy, the two of them flanking Wilbur. He glared at Dream warningly and hefted his gore covered axe in his hands. Beside him he saw Tommy’s finger twitch on the trigger of his crossbow, his blue eyes narrowed and his teeth grit against his instinct to hurl insults.

“Yeah, look, the members of the SMP are standing down. We aren’t going to keep fighting Schlatt's battles for him. Not when he's being so stupid,” Dream called back, opening his arms in surrender. His empty hands only served to make Techno even more paranoid. 

“So you're surrendering?” Wilbur asked, glee filtering in his voice.

“’bout fuckin' time,” Tommy sneered loudly. 

“Let me show you something,” Dream avoided the question and instead turned and walked along the wall of the building they stood next to. Wilbur immediately moved to follow him and Techno grabbed his elbow to stall him.

“Wilbur-“ he started in a low tone but Wilbur jerked his arm away and followed, ignoring Techno entirely. Tommy gave him a look that almost edged into commiseration as he walked past, following Wilbur.

Techno heaved a heavy sigh and went along as well, hearing the shuffle and clink of the Pogtopians trailing after. 

Dream led them around to a dilapidated van, the wheels deflated and grass growing through the splits in the black rubber. He stepped in through a gash in the side, Wilbur ducking in behind him easily and unafraid. Techno wished he had the same confidence in him, but he didnt trust Dream or his declaration of surrender. He concealed his distrust however, working to maintain a level air as he covered his reckless brothers back.

Entering the van he wrinkled his nose as the sour smell of sick and expired booze filled his nostrils. He looked around and when his eyes found the source he found himself instinctively recoiling, stepping back into the shadows and switching his axe to Rocket Launcher with half a thought.

Schlatt was leaning against a decayed slab of wood, his skin sallow with dark purple bags under his eyes. His hair was slick and greasy looking, sticking to a cold sweat on his forehead and falling in twisted hanks around his twitching ears. His usually pristine appearance had crumbled, his armor scattered on the floor and his shirt unbuttoned and open as if he was trying to get air. 

He looked like a wreck, but Techno knew better than to trust that the man was down and out. An injured, desperate animal was far more dangerous than a healthy one. 

“As you can see, he’s not in any state to lead anyone,” Dream's voice interrupted Techno's spiral. Wilbur cackled in response, stepping towards Schlatt's heaving form.

“Oh, how the mighty have  _ fallen! _ You look like  _ shit, _ Schlatt,” 

Schlatt looked up, dark eyes filmy and dazed looked. He lifted a bottle from the top of the desk and took a few long gulps. A brown liquid dribbled from the corner of his mouth and down his throat and Techno was glad to see disgust on the face of the other Pogtopians who were crowding into the small space.

“Wilbur?” Schlatt slurred, “That you?” 

“Yes, Schlatt, it is me,” Wilbur stepped closer and rested his sword against Schlatt's throat, ”And this is the end of the line for you.”

Schlatt only laughed, swaying dangerously as he turned away from Wilbur, uncaring of the sword pointed at him. He leaned over to grab another bottle off the floor and tumbled to the floor, unable to keep himself upright. The crash of him hitting the floor has everyone cringing, even Wilbur winced and lowered his sword, his expression muting.

“God, he looks pathetic,” Fundy whispered as Schlatt lifted up the bottle he'd been trying to reach and chugged it while laying back on the ground. Quackity nodded in silent agreement, a sort of sadness in his eyes as he watched a man he'd once respected roll amidst sticky dried booze on a filthy floor. Too out of his mind to recognize where he was or what he was doing. 

“Fundy?” Schlatt sat up so suddenly that everyone jumped, hands flying to weapons. The goat hybrid was ignorant of how unsettled he made the gathered group as he rolled onto his knees and wobbled to his feet.

“Fundy, is that you,” he squinted and leaned towards Fundy, swaying so far Fundy automatically jerked forward as if to catch him if he fell. Schlatt stayed on his feet by some miracle of Mojang.

“Fundy, fucking fox bitch it is you,” Schlatt crowed, leaning back and slapping a hand on the rotten wood as he guffawed, “You fucking traitor. You fucking left me.”

“You betrayed me first,” Fundy snarled, his tail lashing behind his back.

“You fuckin, abadoned me to run to run this f-fuckin SHITHOLE of a country by myself, “ Schlatt glared at him, potent with the miasma of fury that hung over him, “You fuckin, couldn't fuckin keep it together. Shithead.”

“Fundy,” Wilbur stepped to his son's side but the fox hybrid ripped away from him, stepping towards Schlatt.

“No fuck you!,” he shouted, “You had a dream for this country and I followed it! But you fucked it up Schlatt, you fucked it all up!”

Quackity and the others began to shout and Techno only shrank more into the shadows as Schlatt’s crazed laughter rose above everything else. He tensed, mouth sealed shut and hoping and praying he wouldn't be noticed.

“Tommy, you still have Dream's crossbow?” Wilbur interrupted the shouting, bringing everything back to order without ever even addressing the chaos. A sign of his own charisma. Tommy flexed his blood covered hands, dried brown flakes falling off and onto the floor as the heavily enchanted crossbow formed.

“Yeah,” he responded, face dark.

“Put an arrow through his skull,” Wilbur’s face creased into a snarl and immediately the room filled with shouts. People arguing against this informal execution, people yelling for the chance to do it themselves. Techno stepped forward, mouth opened to speak, to stop Tommy, their youngest brother, from becoming a  _ murderer _ . 

There was such a difference between killing someone in a fight, in self-defense, than staring down at someone who was incapacitated and killing them in cold blood.

It took a certain type of ruthlessness to do that to someone, it caused a certain flavor of unrest that haunted your dreams. Their eyes were always the last thing you forgot, always.

Techno would know.

But he choked on the words, he couldn't force them from his chest. His fear of being noticed, of Schlatt turning towards him and realizing the bomb that lurked in the midst of his executioners was too great. His nightmares had consisted of turning on his brothers and blowing them apart for  _ weeks _ and he couldn't risk bringing them to life in full technicolor now.

Tommy stepped forward and loaded the crossbow, the creak of wood shockingly loud in Techno’s ears over all the chaos in the room.

Tommy lifted the bow and rested the point of the bolt against Schlatt's forehead, the sharpened flint tip cutting a small hole in the man's skin drawing forth a trickle of blood.

“Do you really think you can do better than me?” Schlatt’s body sagged, but his smile remained, albeit grim. “If I die, Manberg goes with me.”

“No it doesn’t,” Tommy growled in response finger tense on the trigger, “L’Manberg lives in the people, in the land and it will live on without you.”

Schlatt laughed at that, high and mocking cutting once again through the noise. People fell silent all around, spellbound as Tommy heft the crossbow and his finger began to tighten. They were hushed by the history happening in front of them, the fall of a leader, and the hopeful revival of a nation.

Then Schlatt's grim smile dropped into a twist of confusion, his nostrils flaring as he tilted his head around, sniffing at the air.

“What, what the fuck?” he mumbled and Wilbur stepped up to Tommy’s side.

“Take your execution with some fucking dignity Schlatt,” Wilbur snarled, while Techno tensed, scenting the air as well, looking for whatever had caught Schlatt's attention.

“It smells like… like burnt toast?” his voice quirked up at the end in a question and everyone around him murmured in confusion, a few people sniffing as if they could catch the elusive burnt smell.

Techno frowned, he couldn’t smell anything and it made his tense, wary that this was a distraction.

“What the fuck are you-“ Tommy started, the crossbow falling when suddenly Schlatt jerked unnaturally hacking and coughing as he hunched over.

Wilbur and Tommy both leapt back as if the other man was attacking them, but the opposite was clearly true. Schlatt’s spine curved until each individual knot of his vertebrae was visible through his shirt. His hand came up and clenched at his chest, fingers digging into the clothes and the skin below so hard the blood was blanching from the joints. His face had become ghost pale and he coughed again, a horrible gagging sound like he was choking on something.

“S-Schlatt?” Quackity ventured, hand raised as he stepped forward, concern on his face. Schlatt looked up and met his eyes and then stumbled falling backwards with a crash to the floor once more.

“F-fuckin s-shit,” he wheeze his voice hoarse and ragged as he heaved for breath like he’ been sprinting. He sagged backwards until he was laying on the floor, hand clenched against his chest.

“W-wanna,” he swallowed audibly and coughed, “Wanna h-hear a joke W-Wilbur?”

Wilbur stepped forward, his back to Techno so he couldn’t see his face or his expression. Whatever it was though it made Schlatt give a low forced chuckle.

“You're going to make a joke your last words?” Wilbur snarled, the with his sword raised once more, as if Schlatt wasn’t dying on the floor right in front of him. Schlatt only laughed in response, whispy and fading as his body slowly went lax.

“W-woof,” he whispered and giggled softly to himself until the laughter faded with a long exhale and his tense muscles went lax all at once. Everyone, even Wilbur, looked confused. 

Techno, however, felt  _ gutted _ for just a moment, nights spent kneeling on the floor in Schlatt’s office parading in front of his mind like a morbid feedback loop.

“Wait.. is he?” Tubbo started, glancing up at Wilbur as if looking for directions.

Wilbur dismissed his sword and bent down, reaching out and pressing his fingers against Schlatt's throat.

Silence reigned for a long, long moment as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the verdict.

“He’s dead,” Wilbur announced solemnly, withdrawing his hand.

“A heart attack?” Fundy murmured softly as if loathing to break the quiet atmosphere.

“Looks like it,” Tubbo responded, something slowly lightening on his face, “He’s dead.”

“He's fucking dead,” Tommy shouted causing everyone to jump, “WE WON, HES FUCKING DEAD!”

Silence followed the statement and then suddenly cheers exploded into the crowded space. People lunged for each other, grabbing their neighbors into hugs as they cheered loudly, spinning and dancing. Someone had backed out of the trailer and shot their fireworks towards the sky instead of at someone else, painting the dark purpled sky in loud splashes of color.

Fundy jumped forward and wrapped his father in a hug before dancing away to scoop up both Niki and Quackity, the trio laughing until tears filled their eyes and they tumbled from the drug van onto the grass outside.

Tommy had turned to grab Tubbo, shaking the smaller boy almost violently before breaking for the exit, spilling out onto the grass with all of the others. As he passed Techno he flashed him a wide smile, joy suffusing his cheeks with pink and adding a sparkle to his eyes. He waved at Techno as he pulled Tubbo outside, before taking a flying leap into the pile that was Niki, Fundy and Quackity much to their dismay.

Techno felt a tentative smile grace his face as stepped forward to Wilbur’s side and studied his brother's face.

Wilbur looked… empty. He looked like all his anger and all his passion had died with the man on the floor. He was studying Schlatt's body almost like he was hoping it would leap up and give him a reason to fight again. Techno reached a hand out and rested it on Wilbur’s shoulder.

“Wilbur?” he asked slowly. The other man twitched but didn’t look up.

“Wilbur, did we win?” he asked quietly, leaning in close to hide the question from prying ears. Wilbur’s shoulders hunched, drawing up around his ears. He watched the body intently, eyes almost burning a hole in it. Techno waited, quiet and tense.

“Yeah,” Wilbur said suddenly and looked at him, a smile on his face, “I really think we did.”

Techno felt his lips curl around his tusks to return the smile, warmth flickering in his chest.

“Yeah, I think we did,” he responded, moving his hand to wrap it around Wilbur’s shoulders and pulling him into his side with a rough sort of affection.

“Dream!” Tommy’s angry shout filtered back into the van and both of them turned in unison to find the source. Techno was at the door in an instant, leaning out with Rocket Launcher in hand to face whatever threat the green garbed man brought with him. He sensed Wilbur at his back as he leveled the weapon in the direction of the Netherite clad man and his cronies, all of whom looked remarkably relaxed.

“What about the traitor?” Eret called out and it was like his words sucked all the joy out of the air. Laughter cut off abruptly and people who had been chattering excitedly with their friends grew still and solemn at once. Techno stilled as well, feeling nausea swell in his gut as his grip tightened in his crossbow.

_ Please no, they were so close. Please. _

Dream studied Eret from behind his mask, his head unmoving but the unnerving sensation of being watched drifting over the crowd like a stormcloud. He didn’t even move, unnaturally still against the slowly brightening sky as dawn started to break behind him.

“I lied,” the words for nonchalant, almost humorous, “Just wanted to cause a little chaos, some strife in your little group. There isn’t a traitor, I just made it up.”

The words were like an exhale as people blinked and then looked at one another with chagrin on their faces. All that mistrust for nothing, just Dream trying to pull them apart with deceit like he always did.

Laughter rang out once more as the jovial atmosphere returned, and Techno sagged against the doorway in response, crossbow unsummoning as relief washed through him, sinking into his bones the way a hot bath does.

“We did it, L’Manberg is free,” Wilbur mumbled, squeezing around Techno to leave the van. He patted Techno on the shoulder before striding out amidst his people, all of whom looked to him with bright and shining eyes.

“Come on everyone, back to the podium,” he gestured to Tommy with a grand wave making the blonde boy's eyes widen, “I think our new President has a speech for us.”

People began to cheer loudly, converging on Tommy and Wilbur and herding the two of them towards the announcement stand and its podium. Excited to christen it with the hope of a revived nation rather than with the blood of one of their own like Schlatt had done.

Techno watched them with warm eyes before tilting his head skyward, his smile widening as he watched the horizon lighten to a soft shade of lavender.

For the first time in weeks his heart felt light and he felt warm all the way to his core. No shadow of orders given, no looming threat of his body betraying him.

Finally, just like L’Manberg…

He was  _ free _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a hard chapter to write, fight scenes are always rough, remembering where everyone is in order to construct something that makes sense is hard af. Dming dnd games has helped a lot with my sense of where characters are in a fictional space but thats easier because theres other people to remind me not to randomly teleport a bitch 20ft. 
> 
> I also really enjoyed this chapter after reading it, idk im pretty proud of it this time.
> 
> As always big thanks to my wonderful and stunning beta Feliadox, who puts up with my shit in so many ways and helps turn the word vomit of my first drafts into something that resembles a final product. I love her with all my heart <3
> 
> Alot has happened on the SMP since the last chapter and i would LIKE FOR THESE FUCKING BLOCK MEN TO STOP FUCKING WITH MY CANNON PLEASE.
> 
> anywho its chapter 5 so i feel like i should bring up a discord server? thats a thing fic writers do right?  
> Go read Snapshots in Lavender and join the server Exceed has set up for that lmao. Their fic is incredible and a great read and besides thats where i hang out all the time anyway and also where i post snippets and discuss some of my plot ideas.
> 
> I love everyone who comments, yall fuel me and i smile everytime i see a comment even if i dont respond to them. Yall are keeping this fic alive with your love.


	6. forget me not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not ready for what's to come  
> Does that make me  
> My mother's selfish son  
> But I wanted you to know  
> I still need you my friend  
> From the line to amend  
> To the cradle again  
> I'll be your  
> I'll be your  
> I'll be your  
> Forget, forget me not  
> -forget me not by Marianas trench

The sun was rising slowly, the pale purple sky warming to a gentle pink. Despite the violence that had soaked the preceding night, there was a cheerful hope in the air, mimicked by the warm colors of the sky. A perfect backdrop for the celebration that was occurring below.

Techno followed the crowd with an ambling gait, feeling no pressure to dance and leap like they were. The ache of worked muscles echoed down his limbs and tiredness lapped at the edges of his mind. Hours and hours of fighting did that to a person and the only reason anyone was still standing was because of the infectious excitement in the air. The joy of victory that ran like electricity through the L'Manbergians.

Techno felt his own happiness in the form of a quiet contentment, a deep suffusion of satisfaction. His brothers were safe and happy, victorious in their endeavors. 

Schlatt was dead, the threat he posed put into the ground alongside him.

Techno's secret, his Achilles heel was once again concealed. He felt safe and settled for the first time since the Festival and it was  _ nirvana _ .

He entered the mainstreet, settling himself against a building as he watched people clamber around into their seats, eyes riveted on the blackstone platform.

The yellow box that had contained Tubbo was still there, streaked with smoke and burns and something more ominous. It created a sobering backdrop as Tommy stepped in front of it, hands lifting to rest on the podium. He was quiet for a long while, blue eyes murky with unvoiced thoughts. Clearly contemplating his current place and the road he'd taken to get there. 

Techno couldn't help but compare the bright blonde boy to the yellow cement behind him. As equally streaked in grime and dried blood as the site of his best friend's execution. Tommy had not escaped the battle unscathed. Wounds littered his body, and not all of the blood he was splattered with belonged to others. The worst of it was a wound like a sword or arrow had bisected his left ear, cutting a swathe through the cartilage.

Despite all of that though Tommy straightened and looked across the crowd with an intense gaze that slowly split into a sunny grin.

"We did it guys. We  _ won! _ " He shouted, voice echoing off the mic. The crowd below laughed and cheered, hands thrown into the air.

"And I never thought I'd say this, after all the struggle, trials, the hardships," his eyes glanced over the crowd, resting just briefly on Technoblade. Techno smiled and nodded at his little brother. "Wilbur… Tubbo….  _ It was meant to be _ ."

The response to that statement was more subdued, but it clearly resonated as people murmured and pressed together, glancing happily at each other.

"But… as much as I appreciate you electing me to be president- and I do appreciate it because this is," he paused to inhale, "because this **is** _everything_. I… I can't be the president."

Shouts sprang up and Techno straightened up, arms falling to his sides as he frowned up at the podium. What was Tommy doing?

"IT'S NOT RIGHT," Tommy shouted over the crowd's objections, forcing them down with his sheer volume. "Because I still have business with you Dream. You still have my discs… and I'm not through trying to get them back."

Techno and the crowd turned as one to watch the green clad man who lurked in the back. His hands were shoved into his pockets and he slouched easily as if utterly unperturbed by all the eyes suddenly turned on him.

"Hm, alright then" he responded, shrugging as if the declaration was nothing to him. Techno tensed, eyeing the Admin with narrowed eyes.

"We aren't done yet Dream." Tommy forged on, maintaining his composure. "So it's not right for me to take this place in L'Manberg yet.  _ LUH _ Manberg."

"We take L's sometimes," Tubbo chimed in much to the amusement of those around him as people echoed the sentiment and laughed. Tommy smiled, meeting his friend's eyes as more cheers echoed across the crowd, the moment of tension not nearly enough to dampen the joyous atmosphere.

“So, I have to ask that Wilbur you come up and take your place. You of all of us deserve this spot more than I do. You’ve fought for ths country not once, but fucking  _ twice _ !” Tommy gestured again, meeting the eyes of his brother who was seated in the very front row. “You deserve to be president of L’Manberg once more.” 

The crowd fell silent, hushed as they watched the scene before them, uncertain and tentatively hopeful. Wilbur had led them before and they were looking to him once again for leadership.

The brown haired man stood, bare of armor unlike everyone surrounding him, but still smeared in the evidence of battle. His lips were quirked into a smile and perhaps to everyone around him he seemed content, contemplative. 

...But Techno saw more in the eyes of the man that he’d known for most of his life. 

Techno shifted, suddenly uneasy. Victory was still sweet in the air, and yet he noticed for the first time that it was not reflected in Wilbur’s eyes. The dark swirl of storm clouds still hung heavy within them even though the sky above them was clear. Wilbur’s eyes were filled with dark thoughts and violence, a sharp contrast to the relief and happiness warming the air around him. 

Techno felt uncomfortable with the knowledge that he thought the storm was over, when in truth... 

They were merely standing in the eye. 

“Unfortunately, Tommy, I  _ also _ cannot accept the presidency.” Wilbur announced solemnly much to the audience's displeasure. 

“Oh come on seriously?” Quackity shouted. 

“I’ll take it, I'll be president!” Karl crowed, jumping up out of his seat with others quickly following; Dream was surprisingly among the ones pitching their names forwards for the role. 

Wilbur turned to glance over the crowd and once again exercised his charismatic aura in quieting the people without a word spoken. 

“I was voted out of office, and while I could not let Schlatt’s tyranny stand, this fact does not change. Besides,” he glanced across the crowd meeting Techno's eyes with a glimmer of amusement, “Someone I know has recently convinced me of the benefits of anarchy, and while I won't force my views on others... it wouldn’t be right of me to lead a government while holding these new views.” 

There was a quiet murmur from those around them, confusion but also acceptance. Understanding of the reasoning behind the decision even if it was not a well liked one. 

“That is why I believe that of everyone here, the one who has risked their life the most, who has withstood threat after threat and kept coming back to shed blood for their country should be the one to lead it next,“ Wilbur stepped back until he was at the base of the blackstone, hands spread in a grand gesture. 

“That is why I believe that  _ Tubbo _ should be our new president.” 

There was a moment of utter silence... and then Niki broke it with a joyous cheer. “Yeah, Tubbo!”

Immediately more cheers broke out, hands pushing and shoving the young boy towards the stage as people cheered for the young man. The crowd was jubilant as he ascended the steps, stopping to accept Tommy’s rough hug and private congratulations. When he stood behind the podium his cheeks were suffused with pink and his smile was wide. Both shy and pleased at the turn of events. 

“Wow uh-  _ haha- _ I didn’t expect this! I don’t even have anything prepared,” he started, rubbing the back of his head and a few amused titters swept through the crowd. A smile tugged at Techno’s mouth although he did not relax, still scanning his surroundings for a threat, for some sign of thunder of the storm he could feel brewing beneath the sunny atmosphere. 

“This doesn’t look right, does it?” He tensed, snapping his head around to glare at the white porcelain mask of the man who’d just spoken. He hadn't even noticed Dream sneaking up on him and that alone was enough to unsettle him. 

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly, hand falling to his side, fingers flexing as inventory magic danced over them, ready to summon weapons with a mere twitch. 

“Well I mean, they're forming a government right in front of you? Aren't you all about anarchy? No governments and whatnot?” Dream hummed, leaning against the wall behind Techno, the picture of relaxation. “Besides, Tubbo is just a kid. What makes him so qualified to lead a nation?” 

“The people wanting him to?” Tubbo was still talking, and the crowd was clearly receptive to his speach. “Besides, there are others here to guide him, to move forward in a positive direction.” 

“And you're ok with that? Just letting this new government take root?” Dream prodded, clearly driving for something, tone darkening. Techno hummed softly. 

“I trust my brothers and the dream they're trying to make a reality. I won't stand in the way of that. I came here to help them, not spread my own ideologies.” Techno responded firmly, watching as another resounding cheer went up, Tubbo pointing to Tommy who had lingered on the stage. 

Techno tuned in enough to realize that Tubbo had just named Tommy his vice president and he smiled again, clapping politely with the crowd. He was happy for his younger brother. 

He jolted as Dream’s hand clamped over his shoulder and he pulled his face closer to Techno’s floppy ear. 

“I think that  **you do have a problem with it** ,” he whispered and Techno felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. 

“No,” Techno felt a tremble building in his bones, his hands clenching until he could feel nails biting into his palm.

“What was that?” Dream’s smirk was audible, dripping with faux concern. Techno inhaled shakily, trying to force stillness and calm into his suddenly cold heart.

“Please don't make me do this. Not to them.” His heart twisted, his gut lurched and even as he begged, shamelessly pleaded he felt his mind starting to divorce. One half was his own thoughts, his own mind and his overwhelming love for his brothers. 

The other half whispered with Dream’s voice, cooing at him that this wasn't right, that he'd given them so much... only for them to throw it in his  _ face and go back to what had hurt them before. _

They were  _ betraying _ him,  _ turning on him _ ….

_ He should do something about that. _

“Hmm, “ Dreams hand on Techno’s shoulder tightened as he feigned thought, head turning to watch as Tubbo descended from the podium and now stood in an excited crowd of L’Manbergian’s, appearing to be directing them to various tasks. 

“No,  **I want you to kill them all Technoblade, everyone here must die.** ” Techno choked, the new order twined with the previous one to form a frigid rope that curled around his throat and  _ strangled him _ .

He felt like he’d taken a step back, like he was no longer in control of his thoughts, his words, his actions. 

He felt peripherally aware of a crossbow being summoned into his palm, already loaded with Fireworks and of the presence at his shoulder disappearing like morning mist. 

He raised the crossbow, resting it firmly in his other hand and leveling it at his new target, face flat and eyes empty.

Tubbo turned, cheeks flushed with happiness, hair ruffled and eyes bright, making eye contact with Techno. His luminous smile dimmed, confusion twisting his face.

_ Tubbo went of with a bang due to a firework fired from [Rocket Launcher] by Technoblade _

\------

Wilbur raced down the narrow tunnel, leather boots thumping softly on roughly carved stone floors as he trailed his fingers over the wall. He pushed his way into a brightly lit room and smiled, turning slowly to take in the sight around him.

The stone walls had been covered in the jagged etchings of song lyrics. The anthem of L’Manberg to be precise. In between the lyrics were almost unintelligible carvings that argued with the contents of the lyrics, argued that the place of freedom from tyranny was gone and dead and they were all just squatting in its putrid  _ corpse _ \--

To an outsider, it might look as though two people were writing on the walls, but Wilbur knew better.

After all,  _ he _ was the one who had put the words there.

Finishing his perusal of his past ravings, he finally locked eyes with his goal.

The centerpiece of the room and the reason he had abandoned Tubbo’s inauguration. 

It was so small, so inconspicuous. No one could guess at the power it held, at the incomprehensible destruction this tiny little bump on the wall would cause if pressed.

It was just a little wooden button, barely anything of note. 

But oh how it made Wilbur  _ smile _ .

He stepped around a wooden chair that was perched in the middle of the room and approached the button, prowling as if a sudden move would startle it into fleeing. 

Last time he had been here the button had been broken, missing from its place on the wall and thus rendering him unable to carry out his plans, his goals of blowing Manberg sky high.

He was glad, however, that the universe had worked against him that night. He was  _ glad _ that things had not gone according to plan.

If they had, he never would have known of the threat that lurked in the city, he never would have had the time to research and counteract it.

No, he knew exactly what he was facing this time and he  _ smiled _ . 

With a flourish, he lifted a hand from his pocket and reached out to the button, a dark grin spreading across his face. Finally,  _ finally _ everything would come to fruition. L’Manberg was  _ rotten _ , decaying inside and out. Everyone was busy trying to staunch the bleeding of a wound long infected. 

Only Wilbur saw the truth.

There was no saving his nation. The only peace he could give her was a swift and final death, and  _ burning down _ what remained so no one could see her maggot infested center.

“ _ What are you doing?” _

The voice caused him to freeze, fingers just brushing the button's smooth surface. 

“Phil?” he whispered, his face softening as he turned slowly from the button and looked into the darkened hallway beyond the room. 

The shadows shifted and slowly divulged a new figure, someone dressed in dark forest greens with a coat of dark grey with white diamonds patterning its hem. The signature green and white striped bucket hat sat firmly above wild blonde hair and blue eyes. Blue eyes that Wilbur remembered being warm like a summer sky, but were now cool and winter edged.

“Wilbur…  _ son _ ,” the man whispered, wings slowly spreading from behind his back, arcing forward as if to protect his flanks from an unseen enemy, “What are you doing?”

Wilbur’s face eased further, storm dark eyes deepening with exhaustion and sadness. Grief lurked there, too deep to comprehend and the sight of this made the other man tense, his wings ruffeling. 

“Can't you tell, dad? I'm gonna blow them all away,” Wilbur whispered.

\------------

“TECHNO,” Tommy’s scream rang over the cacophony that had suddenly erupted, the crack of fireworks, the ringing of metal on metal, the screams of  _ terror _ \--

The SMP members and the warriors from the Badlands that had been gathering near the back of the celebration had sprung forward at Tubbo’s death, weapons held aloft as they pounced on the shocked crowd of L’Manbergians and began to ruthlessly cut them down. The sudden increase in sound was a shock to all, even Techno himself. Only years spent in tournaments and in battles where moments turned from peaceful to violent in half a second kept him from freezing.

Others around him were not so lucky.

“TECHNO, WHAT THE  _ FUCK _ ,” Tommy screamed again, and this time Techno finally caught sight of him as he forced his way through the chaos towards the wall where Techno was crouched. His netherite sword was in hand and his helmet pressed back on his head as rage burned in his blue  _ blue _ eyes. 

Tommy looked  _ murderous _ .

~~_Please don't hurt him, please he's my brother. Stop stop sTOP--_~~ He had _betrayed_ him, had sought to form a country _right in front of him_!

Techno’s lips flattened, the only outward sign of anger he gave as he lifted his crossbow and aimed it at Tommy. The boy paused, frozen in place as confusion and hurt bubbled above his anger. He looked as baffled as he stared down Techno, at the weapon aimed at his head.

Techno couldn't hear the words, but he saw Tommy’s lips move and could read them well enough.

“Techno?”

~~_ NO _ ~~

Techno started to pull the trigger when a small form knocked into him, sending the crossbow askew and shooting the fireworks harmlessly into the sky. He whirled, snarling, as Tubbo smashed a stone axe onto the crossbow and created a scar in the enchanted wood.

Techno jumped back, unsummoning the crossbow and bringing his own netherite axe into his hands. 

With a wild cry he swung, Tubbo automatically raising the stone axe in defense, and  _ shattered _ Tubbo’s pathetic weapon into shards. The boy cried out, sharp bits of stone and wood cutting into his recently healed cheeks. Blood began to trickle like tears down his face and Techno felt a hazy pulse in his brain, the thick warmth of bloodlust beginning to wrap around his mind, softening the cutting chill of the orders. He snarled and raised his axe, preparing to cut Tubbo down for his  _ impudence _ -

A some instinct made him duck and lash out behind him instead, the blade of his axe skating with a shower of sparks across Tommy’s chestplate. 

The boy cringed but stepped forward, putting himself bodily between Techno and his bleeding prey.

“TECHNO  _ STOP IT _ . WHAT THE  _ FUCK _ ARE YOU  _ DOING _ ?!  _ WHY DID YOU KILL TUBBO?! _ ?” Tommy’s voice was rough with a wide mix of emotions, anger the most prominent one. He squared his stance and gripped his axe tightly, clearly defensive of his recently respawned and armorless friend.

~~_ Please please just stop, just leave them alone-- _ ~~

“You betrayed me Tommy,” his lips moved, forming the words of their own accord, the whisper that coiled in his mind, hissing in Dream’s smirking tones, spoke alongside him. Murmuring the words before they left his own mouth. 

“What the  _ fuck _ are you talking about  _ shithead _ ?!” Tommy screeched. Behind him the L’Manbergians were rallying, pushing back the attacking forces, a few of them turning to face Techno, creeping up alongside Tommy and Tubbo with weapons drawn. 

“I haven’t spent _months_ helping you plan this rebellion! _Months_ working hard to gather the resources for _your_ armor and weapons and _enchantments_. Only for you to _replace one tyrant with another_ ,” He shouted. The words sounded like something he’d say, they were his ideals, his phrasing projected across the audience. 

But he would never yell them at Tommy, never like this. Not with his friend's second life smeared across the grass like an abstract art piece just a few yards away. 

“Techno, you  _ never _ said  _ anything _ about this the  _ entire time we were in Pogtopia _ !” Tommy screamed back, face white with anger and something else.

Techno felt like he was spinning, caught in the tide of his own bloodlust and pushed against a wall of icy knives that scraped at the inside of his  _ skull _ \--

“Maybe I figured my own  _ brothers _ would know me well enough that I wouldn't  _ have to _ ,” Tommy flinched at the words, looking pained. 

But Techno had reminded himself of something. His eyes darted over the crowd, those who watched him almost spellbound and those who were fighting spilling even more blood onto the cobble streets.

_ Where was Wilbur? _

\-----

“Wilbur, I think you should step away from there,” Philza said coaxingly, wings mantling behind him. Wilbur only chuckled and stepped to the side, hand resting lightly on the button. The threat was obvious and his father raised his hands in surrender, looking tense. “Will, please, I got your and Techno’s messages-”

“Techno messaged you?” Wilbur cut across his father sharply, eyes wide, “What did he message you?”

“I… It was a weird message. He was asking about visiting the farm, but at the same time it…” Philza swallowed and his eyes narrowed, “He seemed to be saying goodbye.”

Wilburs heart  _ dropped _ and he felt his face pale and the pit in his chest grow colder.

“Why was Techno saying goodbye, Wilbur?” Philza demanded quietly, taking a step forward so he could spread his wings out until the tips of them touched the walls. 

His wings were metallic, beautiful but false. Gunmetal grey feathers intricately carved to resemble real ones covered the top, and from them grew his pinions and flight feathers that appeared to be made of multicolored stained glass, beautiful and fae. 

Wilbur’s eyes locked onto the tips of the pinions that looked like they had been sliced off by something sharp, before the question tugged at his mind once more.

He was such a fool, that conversation by the cow pit a few nights ago. The strange nostalgia, Techno's verbal assurance of his love, something he  **_never_ ** did. 

Wilbur should have known then, should have  _ realized _ \--

“I have to do it, Philza. I have to  _ destroy it all _ ,” he snarled, suddenly incensed, rage pulsing hotly through his blood.

“You built this country Wilbur, you  _ founded it _ . Why do you want to  _ destroy it?!” _

“BECAUSE IT'S  **_SICK_ ** ,” he  _ howls _ , hand leaving the button to shove back his red beanie and fist in his hair. “IT'S  _ SICK _ AND  _ DYING _ AND  _ ROTTEN ROT _ **_TEN ROTTEN._ **

“It can't be saved, Philza, there was a place where men could go to be  _ free-- _ There  **was** a place that was  _ good _ ," His voice broke and he choked on laughter that was never a laugh, "But that place is  _ gone _ . It's sick and dying, maybe it's already  _ dead _ . I have to  _ burn it,  _ Dad, I have to  _ burn it out so it doesn't infect anyone else _ . So it doesn't…" Wilbur swallowed heavily, the growing mania in his eyes settling again, "So it doesn't  _ destroy _ anything else,” The last part trailed into a whisper, and Wilbur glanced at Philza… only to see a great sadness in his father's eyes. 

He looked away, unable to bear the sight of it, and instead stared once more at the button.

“Wilbur, you can't do this,” Philza whispered softly. Wilbur only smiled.

“L’Manberg isn't worth saving anymore. My dream is gone... and it's never coming back,” he whispered just as softly as he looked up at Philza.

“You know someone once said something, and now... I think they were spot on with their words,” Philza shifted, crouching as if to grab him, wings tense. 

But Wilbur was closer and just out of reach.

_ “It was never meant to be.” _

\---------------

The first explosion blew out the mountain behind the podium, spewing water, stone, dirt and plants over the crowd like some mockery of confetti.

Techno didn't even bother looking up at the deteruus spilling from the sky, instead turning and bolting between two buildings. Sprinting to a nearby lake, he dove as he summoned his trident, the magic of it pulling him along. He saw similar bubble trails in his peripherals as his movement slowed, and he pulled himself back to the surface, breaking it with a gasp and turning back towards the city. 

Everything seemed to have frozen. A few people had seen him bolt and had followed….

But they were too slow, too late.

The earth itself groaned, heaving as if it was in great pain.

And 

Then 

It 

**Split** .

Fire screamed from the earth, roaring to claw at the sunny blue sky with red and orange fingers. It greedily consumed the wood of the surrounding buildings, slapping against them so hard they splintered into indiscernible bits. 

The ground itself heaved into the air, stone and dirt and broken glass flung _up_ _up up_ , hanging in the air as if suspended as the earth below churned viciously, tumbling and collapsing into itself. 

People were also tossed around, small as dolls in the destruction around them. Some were consumed by the greedy flames, dying quickly, while others were tossed high and landed harshly, bodies broken and bent in strange ways before they dissolved into ash. 

Others were caught in the growing pit, the ground crumbling beneath their feet as they tried to escape. Pulling them into the earth that was still rumbling and exploding, the devastation spreading further and further. Still more were crushed beneath the falling debris, bodies buried in an instant under chunks of dirt and stone the size of horses. 

Techno could only watch in a horrified kind of awe as L’Manberg was obliterated before his eyes, crumbling into a pit that stretched all the way to the lake Techno was swimming in, beginning to suck the water down into the newly formed chasm. 

Raising his Trident he allowed it to carry him out of the growing tide and back to the shore, landing almost gingerly as if expecting the grass to fall out from under him. The ground still growned, trembling with the aftershocks of the explosions, but it seemed the actual dynamite had done its job. 

L’Manberg was nothing more than a pit in the ground now. 

“L’manberg,” he looked up at the voice, quiet and broken, and found Tommy standing a ways away on a rooftop with Tubbo at his side. The two were now so covered in dirt the actual color of their skin and hair couldn't be discerned. 

...Or it wouldn't have been, if not for the wet tear tracks that carved down their cheeks, cleaning away the grime just a little bit. 

“MY UNFINISHED SYMPHONY,” the voice echoed over the crater, over the people who were digging in the rubble for their items or their friends who hadn't been killed immediately. It brought everyone to attention, as it always had.

Wilbur Soot stood in a cave that was now exposed to the air in the mountain that had been blown apart. His arms were spread, as if he yearned to embrace the apocalyptic scene before him, his smile wide and filled with glee. 

Techno couldn't tell from this distance, but he’d be willing to believe that the storm brewing in Wilbur’s eyes was finally breaking.

\---------------

“Forever unfinished,” the last words came as soft as a breeze, gentle and almost loving as he looked out over the violent scar that he had left on the land. 

Dark smoke was rising from the ground in thick plumes, clogging the sky and casting an orangey pall over the people who stood below, scattered around and frozen in place as they watched him. 

Wilbur laughed, and stretched his arms even wider, reveling in the scene.

Let them look, let them  _ revel _ . Let them  _ imprint this moment in their minds forever _ . 

This was his crowning achievement. His aria, his ode, his magnum opus. 

They would never forget this day, this moment, he had ensured that.

“Philza,  _ Dad _ ,” he spun on his heel, heedless of the burns on his sides and the deep ache in his ribs where the blast had thrown him against a wall. 

Philza was laying against one of the walls, his metal and glass wings wrapped around him to protect himself. At Wilbur’s voice he looked up, his eyes wide and shocked, pupils dilated with adrenaline that only came from someone battle hardened, who'd been thrown suddenly back into conflict. 

“Dad, I need you to kill me,” he said, summoning his gleaming netherite blade and tossing it with a careless flip of his wrist. He caught the bladed end instead of the handle and offered it to Philza who only stared at him uncomprehendingly.

“ _ What _ ?” he asked slowly, moving to stand with careful motions, wary of the unhinged man in front of him. 

“Come on Philza! Kill me, kill me right now! Come on, do it,  _ KILL ME _ ,” he screamed, thrusting the sword towards Philza. The blonde man caught it before it could impact his chest, gripping the handle tightly and was shocked to find it already sticky. 

Blood was dribbling down the blade and over his knuckles, trickling from where Wilbur’s hand was clenched around it.

Wilbur smiled and leaned against the sword, resting it so it was right over his heart, right over a gap in his ribs. All it would take was a push, a single  _ shove _ and it would slice easily through muscle and organs and pierce Wilbur to his core.

A single push to kill him.

“Come on dad,” he begged, smile wide even as tears began to drip from his eyes. 

“No- no I  _ won't _ !” Philza tried to recoil, but found only wall behind him, “YOU'RE MY  **_SON_ ** .” 

Wilbur only smiled, the tears dripping from his chin, pattering like rain upon the ground as he gripped the blade harder in his fist, blood dripping from it as well. 

“ _ Please _ ,” he leaned in closer, the tip of his own sword digging into his chest, “You know as well as I do... that I can't come back from this.”

Philza opened his mouth, but only a choked sound escaped him. Tears welled in his own eyes as well and he sobbed softly. 

“I'm sorry. I wish I'd come sooner,” Philza whispered and Wilbur smiled, tilting his chin down.

_ ‘I wish you had too’ _ Wilbur thought privately to himself, even as Philza’s arms tensed and he felt the sword rip through him, tearing through his body until he could feel the heat of his father's hands against his chest, separated just barely by the hilt of the sword. He glanced down, watching as blood pulsed from the wound, slicking his father's hands in red.

It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would.

He was aware of himself crumpling forward, falling towards the ground. But before he could hit it, he felt arms wrap around him, wings of metal and glass and light surrounding him much like they had when he was a child. He smiled, not with malice or mania... but with genuine contentment. 

“ _ Thank you _ ,” he exhaled, the words bubbling with blood around his lips. Philza sobbed, his arms around Wilbur tightening and Wilbur’s eyes slid shut.

He felt warm. He'd expected cold, but instead he was… at peace. He was reminded of his childhood, of embracing his father, being wrapped in his wings and tickled until he begged for mercy.

The memories made him smile wider and he wanted to curl into his father's embrace, and enjoy it one last time. 

Just for a little longer.

But he was too tired, his limbs were so heavy, he found they only twitched without actually moving. 

Oh well… it didn't matter anyway. He’d done what he set out to do.

They were safe.

He’d protected them. 

That was all that mattered.

_ WilburSoot was slain by PhilzA _

_ \---------- _

Techno’s communicator pinged.

In fact everyone’s comm pinged. A few people lifted it up, opening the message with shaking hands. 

Techno didn't need to.

He had watched.

He had watched his father kill his brother.

“No..”

~~_ No _ ~~

“ **_NO_ ** ,” he screamed, lunging down into the pit, dancing along the skeletal remains of L’Manberg. Trying to get to the gaping hole in the side of the mountain where he could see Philza hunched over his brother's body. 

He didn't even make it halfway across before Quackity and Eret moved to intercept him, armor and weapons pulled from the dirt and reapplied to their bodies. He skidded to a halt and felt the wood creak dangerously under his weight. 

He changed directions and kept moving, watching as Niki clambered onto the rigging on his other side, moving with a dancers grace across the skeletal remains of her nation. Techno felt cornered, fear crawling up his spine as he dug a hand into his pockets and fumbled for his potions.

His fingers brushed something soft, something that wheezed painfully and whispered with the voices of the dead.

_ “Techno do you have those wither skulls?” _

He reached deeper into his inventory, feet moving automatically as he leapt onto a platform of cobble. He felt the clink of skulls and he knew… he knew what he had.

_ “Kill them all, kill everyone here.” _

Techno ripped the sand from his inventory and dumped it on the ground, shaping it into the approximation of two T’s and placing two heads on each statue.

“EVERYBODY  _ STOP _ ,” he howled, whirling and pointing Rocket Launcher at the encroaching crowds, holding the other two skulls aloft in his free hand. 

For once on this godforsaken world, everyone listened to him and froze.

He stood, breathing heavily, his chest heaving. If there was wetness on his cheeks he attributed it to blood.

“Techno,” his eyes jumped as Tommy shouldered his way to the front of the crowd, tension written all over his body. 

Techno only snarled and aimed his crossbow higher, taking another step towards his half assembled Withers.

“Dont take another  _ fucking _ step forward Tommy,” he snarled, ignoring the roughness of his own voice, “Or I will blow every single one of you to bits again. See if this time you  _ stay  _ **_dead_ ** **.** ” 

Tommy’s face was rage incarnate, cheeks red and face twisted into a mask of fury. He looked almost demonic in the glow of his armor and the orange pall cast by the thick smoke covering the sky. 

“You don't have  _ do _ this Blade, you don't have to- we- we were so  _ close _ , we defeated Schlatt,” Tommy let out a wobbling laugh, “ _ Please _ .”

Techno stared at him, caught between the fangs of his orders and the fire of his grief. He was hurting, his brother was dead, his father had killed him.

_ “My names Wilbur Soot and I'm your new big brother! That means that I protect you and watch your back always.” _

“You’ve always wanted to be the hero, Tommy,” Techno hissed, lowering his crossbow and staring balefully across the gap between him and his younger brother, “Even when you were little you always made me or Wilbur or Dad play the villain, you never wanted to do it. You always **_had_** to be the fucking _hero_.”

“Blade…” Techno could see tears in Tommy’s eyes. Felt them in his own as his breathing hitched, filled with emotion.

“Did I ever tell you about Theseus, Tommy?” he said, his face and voice smoothing.

“He was a hero too, Tommy. His country was in danger and he sent himself forward into enemy lines. He slayed the minotaur and saved his city... 

And do you know what they did to him, Tommy?” 

Techno let the statement hang in the air, breathing shakily.

“They  _ exiled _ him, Tommy, and he  _ died _ in  _ disgrace _ .”

“Don't do this Techno,” He blinked and watched as Philza wove through the crowd. His eyes fixed on Philza’s hands, stained red with blood, the front of his robes equally drenched. He felt his throat close and he swallowed thickly, fighting back a fresh wave of tears.

_ “You know Techno, I think I want to be a musician. I'm not good at fighting like you are, and I think… I think I want to add something beautiful to this world.” _

“The greeks knew the score,” he bit out, teeth clenched as he turned, “So if you want to be a hero Tommy?”

“ **_THEN DIE LIKE ONE_ ** **”**

He hadn't even noticed that he was no longer hearing Dream's voice, that his words of grief and rage were his  _ own _ . 

Tommy and Phil shouted but whatever they said was lost as the crowd around them began to scream. 

Then Techno plunged the remaining heads onto the withers and flung himself away as the horrific screeching dark magic welled to the surface, the souls trapped in the sand spinning and swirling and rising into the heads, breathing unholy life into the structures.

Techno had enough time to raise his shield and cover himself before the Withers came into being with a cacophonous  _ boom _ , akin to the TNT that had ripped the world apart not long ago, and began to rain death upon the gathered L’Manbergians. 

Several of them that had been caught in the initial explosion of pure magic died, Techno’s communicator shuddering with pings. The rest scattered, fleeing like mice beneath the eye of a falcon as the summoned creatures descended upon them with awful gasping and groaning sounds.

In the chaos, Techno opened his comm and glanced at it, searching the list of death tags with a cold eye. He could account for everyone there. Either they had been claimed by Wilbur’s explosion, by his rampage with Rocket Launcher or were now falling to the Withers themselves.

He could hear Philza shouting information and Tommy rallying the scattered warriors in the background, and as he read that single death message, his brother's final one, he felt agony pulse through his chest even as the cold knives of Dream’s orders abated. Their parameters had been fulfilled. 

Released from their obligation, Techno used the distraction his withers provided and he  _ ran _ . He turned into the forest and  _ fled _ , a combination of thudding feet and flying with his Trident, trying to put as much space between him and L’manberg as possible. 

He couldn't go back. 

Not to L’Manberg, the grave and poison of his brother. 

Not to Pogtopia, haunted by ghosts and with little protection to offer him anyway. 

Not even to his own base that he had shown the others.

He knew he would be hunted, he knew they would come for him.

So he ran.

He ran until his hands slipped from the wet handle of the trident and he tumbled to the ground with a thud. He ran until his legs gave out and he fell to his knees unable to move for their trembling.

He crawled into a nearby cave and sealed the entrance with dirt, only allowing himself a small torch.

Curled on the stone ground largely unhurt and still in possession of many of his potions and all of his items, Techno  _ wept _ . 

He wept because for all that he was physically untouched, never had he lost a battle so horribly. 

His freedom.

His dignity

His  _ family _ .

Techno curled onto the ground and he  _ sobbed _ , praying for his big brother to come and rub his back and tell him it was just a nightmare.

But he knew that no one was coming. 

Not ever again.

\----------

He wakes up slowly in fits and spurts.

The smell of iron and smoke was the first sensation he grew aware of.

Then a prevailing silence, only the ever present breathing of the earth colored his perceptions.

He clenched his fingers and felt his nails scrape across stone, became aware of the fact that he was laying on hard rock. 

It should ache... but it didn't.

His body felt strangely free, floating and detached from anything but his mind felt too muddled to actually comprehend how strange everything was.

He tried to sit up and blinked away his foggy vision. He was somewhere dark, somewhere unlit. He needed a torch or else Mobs would step from the shadows and kill him.

He slowly went to stand and his world fell into blackness once more.

It was comforting, this black.

Warm and soft.

Everything was cradled in it so gently.

So tenderly.

What had he been doing?

Where had he been going?

He needed… a torch… he needed a torch to protect himself from mobs.

He needed light.

He was standing in a hall, the walls carved roughly as his hand rested beneath the blurry glow of a torch.

A torch…. He needed one of those, didn't he?

Slowly he reached up and unhooked the torch from its bracket on the wall, clasping it in both hands since his fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated. 

He had a torch… now what?

A flash, a man with wings, another with a pig's snout and pink haired, a boy with blonde hair.

His family.

He needed to find them!

He staggered forward, gripping his torch like it was a lifeline and leaning against the stone walls for balance, the rough material scraping against his shoulder.

He blinked and suddenly he could smell fresher air, and when he looked up he could see dark green grass and pale moonlight.

When had night fallen? 

It had been early morning, hadn't it?

He shoved down his confusion and pressed on, every step seeming to help clear his mind and his sight, the world growing into sharper focus.

Then he was stumbling, tripping out onto the grass. His brain moved too slow to make the decision to drop the torch and catch himself on his hands, so instead he rolled heavily, dropping the light into the wet grass with a dull thunk.

He lay on his back and blinked at the night sky that glittered high above him.

Had there always been so many stars?

No,  _ focus _ , he needed to find his family. 

He had to make sure they were ok, that they were safe. 

He pulled himself back onto his feet, inhaling long slow breaths as he tried to force his muddled thoughts into order. He pushed his unsteady body to stand at attention. 

He felt like a puppet whose limbs had come loose and angrily grabbed by all those unraveled threads and yanked, forcing everything to tighten back into place with a resounding snap.

He gasped suddenly, feeling the cold chill of the night air on his face, hearing the chirp of birds and the lapping of waves somewhere far away. 

The world came back into focus so abruptly it made his head spin again, but the floating distant feeling was gone and for that he was thankful.

Sighing deeply, he bent down to pick up his torch…. and paused, staring at his hand.

Or, more appropriately,  _ through _ his hand. 

“Oh _fucking_ hell,” he whispered, turning his hand over to stare at his palm to stare at the torch whose light he could see _THROUGH_ _his PALM_.

“OH jesus  _ fuck _ ,” his knees gave out and the wet grass soaked into his pants but he didn't care, instead lifting his other hand to stare at that as well, “Oh christ alive.”

“Wilbur?” he jumped to his feet at the voice and looked up. For a moment the darkness obscured anyone from sight…

Then slowly a pale mask emerged from the brush like the moon from behind clouds. The unsettling smiley face glowed with an unearthly light.

“Dream?” he responded, feeling confused. “W-what are you--?”

“I saw the glow,” Dream glanced at the torch that lay sputtering on the ground, “I thought you were someone else.”

Wilbur sagged slightly, the fear leaving him as he raised his hands to face again to stare at them.

“I’m dead… aren't it,” He didn't expect an answer, especially not from Dream. In truth, the question was rhetorical. He knew he was dead, and even as he stared at his hands... he could remember dying, curled in Philza’s arms like he was small again.

Guilt swallowed him at the memory.

He’d made his  _ own father _ kill him. 

He really was a piece of fucking work.

“You're a ghost,” Dream’s tone was strange and it made Wilbur look up at him in confusion. Not that looking at Dream clarified anything for him, Dream’s mask was as inscrutable as ever. 

“Yeah… I guess I am.” He looked back down at his hands and sighed. “I should have stayed all the way dead.”

“I guess you must have had something really important to do.” 

At that Wilbur sat up, blinking rapidly.

“ _ Shit _ , yeah I…” He stood, dusting off his knees and bending down to pick up the torch. He had to find them, he had to find his brothers and father. He had to make sure they were okay and everything had worked out.

…Well... as okay as they could be… circumstances considering.

He cringed and resolved not to show himself to his family. He wouldn't do that to them. They deserved to bury his body and move on, leaving his madness in the ground with him. 

But he had to make sure they were okay.

“Sorry Dream but I have to go. It was nice talking to you,” he waved absently as he began to walk into the trees, heading to Tommy’s house. He’d check there first for his family and then maybe Pogtopia next. He doubted they were in Techno’s secret base, but that was also a possibility wasn't it?

“Wilbur wait, where are you going?” Dream was following him, Wilbur realized, and he stopped and sent the green clad man a glare. 

“No offense Dream, but it's none of your business,” he snapped sharply, feeling a strange echo fill his tone as anger flitted through him. Dream tensed slightly and his shoulders squared.

“I don't know Wilbur. You came back from the  _ dead _ to do whatever it is. So it must be pretty important. I think you should tell me where you’re going.” 

Wilbur scoffed and turned on his heel at Dream’s words. He’d had enough of the masked Admin's arrogance for one night. He was dead and so far beyond caring what Dream thought or wanted anymore.

“Wilbur-”

“Fuck off Dream,” he threw over his shoulder carelessly.

“ **Wilbur stop right there** ” It was like his feet had been glued to the ground. One minute he was walking and the next he’d come to a halt so abrupt his entire body swayed with the sudden cut in momentum. He blinked, confused as he looked down at his feet and tried to force them to move, to do something, anything.

They stayed stubbornly in place, as if rooted to the grass beneath them

.

“Good to know that works. It makes sense, I suppose. As a ghost you were technically born on this world,” Dream was talking and Wilbur looked up, watching as the man sauntered around him, circling to his front with as much nonchalance as could be packed into his oversized hoodie. 

“What did you do to me,” Wilbur suddenly felt a frisson of fear shoot through him and he didn't quite manage to keep the rising wariness out of his voice.

“Technically  _ Philza _ did this to you when he killed you, or you did it to yourself when you insisted on coming back even though you’d run out of lives. Either way this isn't my fault at all,” Dream hummed and Wilbur snarled in response.

“Why can't I move?!” 

“Because I told you not to,” Dream answered calmly and suddenly Wilbur felt all his anger and emotion drain away.

Cold  _ horror _ replaced it.

“I'm a ghost,” he whispered softly, horror painting every word. He could feel Dream’s eyes on him, studying him and picking him apart. Peeling back the layers of his expression and tone to extract every little nuance from it for inspection and dissection. Studying him until he knew every little weakness to every little syllable. 

“Indeed you are… and do you know what that means?” Wilbur remained mute mouth clamped shut as he dropped his gaze from Dream’s face to the floor, trying to hide the way the edges of his form flickered and fuzzed out like tv static.

“ **Wilbur, do you know what you being a ghost means?** ” The words ripped through him, merciless as they plunged into his still weak and fuzzy mind. He cried out and flinched, sure he would have gone down if not for the orders holding him steady and in place.

“ _ Yes _ ,” he sobbed, clutching at his head as if he could drive away the biting cold with a hard enough grip. But his hands were no longer warm, and they did nothing to soothe his pain.

**“Tell me what you know.”**

He sobbed again in response and gripped his hair so hard he was sure it would rip out. Maybe it was and he couldn't feel it.

“I'm a mob,” The words left him in gasps, each one dragged from his throat kicking and screaming, “I’m a mob on the world you own. That means you can control me, just like you can control everything else.”

The words dropped like a stone, Dream remained silent and unreadable for a long long second.

**“How did you learn about this?”** he asked and Wilbur grunted, wheezing through his teeth with breath he no longer needed.

“S-Sally,” he bit out, and at Dream's confused head tilt he felt pressured to continue on, “S-she was my wife. A siren Mob Player. She told me about some of it. Her World Owner called her back… at least that's what I assumed. She disappeared and I never saw her again.” 

“Leaving you all alone with your son,” Dream hummed and Wilbur grimaced painfully. 

“ **What about your brother? What do you know about Technoblade** ,” Wilbur heaved at the question, as if trying to vomit up the contents of an eternally empty stomach. 

“H-he’s a Mob Player, p-piglin,” he tried to bite down on the words, to snap them in half before they could leave his tongue. “He’s a M-Mob Player and… and Schaltt did something to him. Schlatt became…”

Wilbur choked on the words, trying to swallow them back down and his body convulsed, the edges of his form blurring even more until he looked barely human at all anymore. Dream only watched, green eyes hungrily drinking in the effects his orders were having on the new mob. 

“Sclatt made him kill Tubbo at the festival and… and I think he made him do other things too.” Wilbur's body settled as the words left his mouth, but guilt chewed at his insides. 

_ God _ , Dream of all people shouldn't have this intel. 

“So this entire time, you  _ knew _ that Techno wasn't in full control of his actions?” Dream sounded surprised and Wilbur  _ growled _ , glaring at him as he panted worthless breaths.

“I was trying to help him. To protect him. I was going to kill Schlatt.” The dark swirl of insanity returned to his white, white eyes and Dream stood there. 

His head tilted slowly, a low chuckle escaping him. " _ Oh _ , I see now,” he crooned, stepping forward until he was in Wilbur’s personal space.

“I understand what's happened now. You were going to kill Schlatt because you thought that in doing so you’d gain the World Owner status he had, didn't you? Except then he just suddenly died... and you thought someone else had to have something to do with it,” Wilbur stopped breathing finally, no ache came from it anymore anyways. 

He stared at Dream, at the glint of dark malicious eyes behind the mask and felt true terror.

“You blew up L’Manberg... all to make sure that you killed whoever had the World Owner status. Making sure  _ you _ got it in the end.”

Wilbur was shaking, he was rattling apart at the seams as Dream picked him apart piece by little piece. 

“Oh, and then Philza!” Dream snapped his fingers and laughed, a high and shocked sound, “You got your own dad to come here to kill you because you didn't even trust  _ yourself _ with this power over your brother. You figured you get a hold of it and pass it off to your fucking  _ dad _ . You were always gonna make him kill you.”

“ _ Damn, _ thats fucked up,” Dream laughed and Wilbur averted his eyes once more, shame crawling up his throat like a physical thing. 

“There's just one little problem with your plan,” Dream reached out and grabbed his chin, twisting his head back up and around so he could meet the Admin’s eyes through the holes in his mask again. 

“That's not how this  _ works, _ Wilbur. If it really were as easy as simply killing an Admin to gain their powers, then I think a lot more servers would be in chaos don't you?” He sneered, glee edging every word, “You don't kill someone and then get their World Owner status. It has to be passed on to you naturally. Every Admin has a contingency plan for their death laid out, and I can assure you that Schlatt's would have never been  _ ‘to the victor goes the spoils’ _

“So you blew up your country, traumatized your siblings and father… all for  _ nothing _ ,” Dream released Wilbur as he stepped back and laughed. Wilbur could only stand there limply, staring into some middle distance as he registered Dream’s words.

“No,” his voice was hoarse and broken sounding, “No I… I did research I--”

“You wanna know something else that's funny, Wilbur?” Dream cut across him, stepping around him until he could rest an arm across Wilbur’s shoulders, pulling him in close like they were friends. 

“By the time he died,  _ Schlatt _ wasn't the one with control over your brother anymore...” 

Dream leaned closer until his mask brushed Wilbur’s ear, “ _ I was _ .”

The words were like dropping a match into gasoline. The fire exploded in Wilbur's chest and he whirled with an unearthly  _ scream _ , hands lashing out to claw at Dream wildly. The Admin skipped back, barely avoiding having his face torn off. 

As it was Wilbur  _ wailed _ , voice echoey and horrific as his features morphed and  _ twisted _ . A wound opened on his chest, bleeding deep deep blue all down his front. Blue leaked from his mouth and dribbled from his eyes like tears as he howled and  _ raged _ , pulling at the invisible binds that kept him anchored to that one patch of grass.

“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU  **_BASTARD_ ** . I'LL RIP YOUR LIVER OUT AND  _ FEED IT TO YOU _ . I’LL  _ FLAY _ THE SKIN FROM YOUR BACK AND USE IT TO  _ BIND BOOKS. _ I'LL  _ SHATTER _ THAT FUCKING  _ MASK _ AND BREW  _ POTIONS WITH YOUR HIDEOUS  _ **_EYES YOU LEAVE MY FUCKING BROTHER ALONE!_ ** ” His hands clawed at thin air as he mindlessly leaned in Dream's direction, screeching and throwing more and more creative insults and torments he wished upon the Admin. 

Dream only smiled under his mask, the satisfaction of the completeness of his victory filling him like a heavy meal.

“I'm afraid I can't do that, and I'm also afraid that I can't just let you walk away from here."

That shut Wilbur up, the spirit's mouth snapping closed as he eyed Dream warily. 

“What are you going to do Dream? Kill me? Torture me? I'm already fucking  _ dead _ ,” Wilbur laughed darkly, his face curving into a sardonic grin. Dream only continued to smile blithely beneath his mask. 

“No, I'm not going to do any of those things. Honestly, your presence out there will bring plenty of fun chaos, so I have no interest in simply erasing you even if I could.” He stepped closer and this time Wilbur didn't recoil, only glaring hotly at Dream, meeting his gaze furiously. 

“You know too much Wilbur, and I can't risk you telling anyone about what you know or what you’ve learned here tonight. I have plans, big ones, and they involve making sure that Techno is right where I need him when I need him. I can't have anyone trying to come to his rescue. That would just be a pain.” Dream hummed as he stepped closer again, back within striking range. 

Wilbur knew he should take this chance, he should lash out at Dream and strike him down where he stood. But he also knew that he stood no chance of actually killing Dream here, and even then.. something about the man's words held him spellbound. 

He found himself wrapped in them as they painted a picture that rattled Wilbur to his very core.

“Dream,” he started slowly and the other man only smiled, lifting up a hand to grab his mask and slowly sliding it to the side of his head. 

Dreams face had several scars, one across the bridge of his nose and another diagonally across his forehead and brow. His upper lip had a knick and the right side of his face had a large slash cross from his jaw to below his eye. Freckles splattered across his cheeks and his eyes looked like polished emeralds they were such a luminous green hue.

“Dream,” Wilbur's voice became tinged with desperation as he looked up the face of a man who was known for never showing his features. He was treated to a wide toothy smile instead, a wicked kind of glee dancing in Dream’s eyes.

“Wilbur Soot,” Dream purred, grinning widely.

**“I want you to** **_FORGET_ ** **.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woof this was a monster, as always thanks so much to Feliadox my wonderful beta without whom this fic would not exist. Lets hear some love for them in the comments please god.
> 
> if you havent figured it out yet all of the chapter titles and the title of the fic are songs, go look them up to get my chapter vibes, this one especially made me cry a little lmao.
> 
> I just started a new job and the new arc is starting next chapter so there might be a weeks break in updates sorry guys! j  
> just read this chapter over and over if u get bored ;P


	7. meet me in the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have seen what the darkness does  
> (Say goodbye to who I was)  
> I ain't never been away so long  
> (Don't look back, them days are gone)  
> Follow me into the endless night  
> (I can bring your fears to life)  
> Show me yours and I'll show you mine  
> (Meet me in the woods tonight)  
> -Lord Huron

Techno was aware that his upbringing with a Player had altered his world view permanently. It wasn't on purpose, of course. Philza was simply ignorant of what it meant to be a Mob Player, of the effect it would have on Techno’s life . His only inklings came from the nonchalant way people discussed Techno’s alleged death at Philza’s hands. 

Philza knew on some level that people would look at Techno and only see a mob, not a Player. That when Techno spoke in Piggish, they would decry him as a beast and never bother to acknowledge the incredible intellect he harbored. 

Philza was peripherally aware of the issues Techno would face, and had tried his best to prepare him for life on other worlds with other Players. But he could only do so much with what he had and with the biases he himself carried.

_“I’d like to meet your dad one of these days. You make him sound like a pretty cool guy. Plus he saved your life, so I’ve gotta give him props for that,” Firebreath hummed, leaning against a wall as the two rested between spars. Techno looked up and allowed some sarcasm to quirk his voice._

_“What, you think I couldn’t have defended myself? I held out for some time, I’m sure I could have soldiered on for a while longer. Someone would have eventually noticed that I was a Player,” he snorted and lifted a bottle of water to his lips, pausing when he caught sight of Fire’s uncharacteristically grave expression._

_“Techno,” he started slowly, “there's a reason that there are so few true Mob Players out there. There's a reason most of the inhuman-looking people you meet are hybrids, not actual Mobs. Not everyone is lucky enough to experience mercy.”_

Techno wondered sometimes whether Philza had realized that he’d saved Techno’s life by taking him in. He wondered if Philza realized that, if he’d left the little piglin child in the Nether that day, he likely would not have made it to adulthood. He wondered if Philza ever thought about other Mob kids who found themselves cursed with too much intelligence, too much aether in their bones. 

_“I heard you killed that rare mob? What did it drop? I’ve heard mobs like that always have tons of cool loot on them. I wish they were easier to track and hunt, though. Completely random spawning, and they tend to be tricky buggers.”_

If Philza had thought about it, he’d likely dismissed it. That was a problem Techno had come across many times when interacting with Players, even some hybrids. The idea that the "rare mobs" were in fact young (and mostly feral) Mob Players was an idea no one wanted to entertain. No one wanted to think about the implications of it, the blood that might very well coat their own hands. Hunting mindless mobs was one thing, hunting _children_ was another.

Techno was aware that his upbringing had a palpable effect on his world view, he wouldn’t deny that. But Philza’s years as a mercenary and surviving on his own in the hardcore world he’d built had ingrained him with more paranoia than most--a good trait for Techno to have inherited, he’d later learned. 

Philza had always told him to be honest, but at the same time, to play his cards close to his chest. Don’t volunteer information if it's not asked for and don't reveal much if it is. It was a mantra he’d drilled into Techno’s head when he was young, more so than he ever had into Wilbur and Tommy‘s. 

But that made sense as well; Wilbur and Tommy were human, they didn’t have to worry about being viewed as a monster.

Techno lay in yet another cave, curled away from the light like he was one of those mobs that Mojang had cursed to burn in the sun. His armor was dirty and dented, and he was still coated in the grime of war, but he’d had no time to stop and get himself clean.

It had been almost a week since the rebellion, the fight between Pogtopia and Manberg and Tubbo’s rise to the presidency. That entire time had been spent running, slinking like a wounded animal from cave to cave, covering his tracks carefully and avoiding his hunters.

Because he did have hunters.

He'd seen both Bad and Punz on two separate occasions, both of them as silent as shadows gliding through the undergrowth, tracking him. They were the ones who had gotten the closest but Techno was aware that there were others on his tail, not as successful but just as determined to claim his head for their own. He hadn’t been seen yet, hadn’t engaged with his pursuers, but he knew it was only a matter of time. He needed to leave the area. Get far far away from here so that they would lose interest in the chase. But he also needed some of his things, his personal belongings he’d left in his base when he’d gone to the fight, hoping he’d be able to return to them. 

So he’d spent several days in the forest laying false trails and fucking with his pursuers in general until finally he felt they were twisted around enough that they would be here for at least another week trying to untangle his tracks. He felt assured that he could at least make the journey to his base unmolested.

Being back on familiar turf should have made him feel secure, but instead guilt and fear haunted his steps. Behind every tree he expected to see Dream lurking ready to reclaim him. In every shadow he saw Philza standing with anger and disappointment in his eyes, ready to strike him down. He kept thinking that he could hear whispers, too soft and distant to be understood but lurking in the background of the forest ambiance. Each time he heard them he stopped and spun around, hand clenched around a summoned weapon, looking for the source. But no one was ever there.

He sped up his pace, hurrying to his lake so he could get his stuff and get out of here as fast as he could. He was shocked to find it completely different from when he’d seen it last. The banks were no longer swollen and the water no longer an ugly murky brown. It looked as pristine and clear as it had the first day he’d seen it. The water was so clean he could see all the way down to its sandy and plant covered bottom. Could see fish flitting around in its depths as their scales flashed and refracted the sunlight above. It was a scene of total serenity and honestly he had expected the same discord he carried in his mind to be reflected on his home.The fact that it looked untouched did not sit well with him.

He ignored the conflict in his own mind and instead took a leap and dived into the water's cool depths, swimming with powerful strokes down to the still exposed hole to his lair. He tumbled out of the waterfall with a loud crunch and was slapped by the most awful stench he’d ever encountered. Reeling back he covered his nose and looked around his tiny bolt hole, searching for the source of the stench.

The cause was immediately evident; food had been pulled out of his chests and thrown onto the floor. Bread, meat and vegetables forming a rotten carpet across the stone.

His bed was coated in a thick dark substance that had dried in chunks on his sheets and it was only on closer inspection that he realized the substance was blood. Whose or what he wasn't sure, but he felt some relief that they hadn't gone as far as to break his respawn bed.

He looked over the rest of the room again, some of his chests had been busted open, items spilling from their sides like innards. Others were simply left gaping and a cursory inspection told him that his ores, his spare tools (anything of worth really) had all been stolen. Even his enchanting table and the shelves of books he'd brought with him had been looted. The empty walls where they'd sat now only contained a crude drawing of a pig with x-ed out eyes in the same chunky red as his bed. 

He stared at the drawing emptily, glancing at the words _pig_ written in more dried blood on the floor and other walls. As if they were trying to mock him.

Grunting he turned toward the uncovered entrance to his vault, ignoring the scribbled insults. Being called pig had lost its shine a long time ago and he no longer felt any sting from the word. He was a piglin, it was stupid to pretend otherwise. 

As he slid down the ladder he found the Vault in a similar state as the room above. Chests laying open and their insides pillaged. The room had at least been treated with some more dignity than the place where he'd slept, but it was still clear that whoever had returned to his base had stripped the room of everything in it that had any value. They had taken everything without consideration for the owner… or perhaps they had taken it because of the owner.

The thought made him sick and he turned away from the bare room, picked clean like a corpse in the desert sun. Instead he worked his way towards a pool of water with some sugar cane growing around it in the corner. He shoved the plants aside and crouched at the water’s edge, hands plunging into the pool and shoving aside the thin layer of mud to reveal the solid lid beneath. 

He popped the latch with ease and as the water swirled away several tools were revealed within. A spare set of armor, a few tridents, some weapons and emerald blocks as well as potions were all settled safely in the chest, untouched. He sighed and thanked Philza for the paranoia that had led to him hiding the chest in the first place. Leaning down he gathered up the items, dismissing them into his inventory with a smooth flick of his fingers. 

With that taken care of he straightened up and turned to exit the room once more. There was nothing here for him anymore. The base was compromised and plundered, and he would only get hurt if he stayed here. 

He climbed the ladder back into the reeking room above, a hand covering his sensitive snout to dull the smells. He picked over the trash littering the floor until he was beside the water elevator that would take him to the surface. He stopped and looked over his room, smeared with blood and rotten food one last time and shoved down the sentimentality that threatened to curb his shoulders.

It was just a base, it didn’t matter. 

He would build another.

With a huff he stepped into the bubbling water and allowed himself to be swiftly carried away by the current. 

\-----------

He trekked to the top of the hill, having stopped briefly by his stables in Pogtopia to grab one of his horses. He felt defeated to find them all gone and only a message with some coordinates on it left behind. 

He wasn't sure if he’d find his horses alive or dead when he got to the spot, but he wasn’t keen on finding out today with Hunters hot on his heels. Instead he decided to swing by the cow pit and free the bovines contained therein before he moved on. He wouldn't be around to feed them anymore, it would be better for the herd to find its own grass.

He knew something was wrong the moment he crossed the river though, the tang of iron thick in the air. His mind flashed to the blood soaked bed and the scribblings on the wall. He’d wondered where all that blood had come from and he had the sickening feeling he was about to find out.

He broke into a run, sprinting for the sinkhole as his gut twisted into knots. He could see the patch of grass where he’d sat with Wilbur just a few weeks ago, where his brother had comforted him and offered him an escape from the server. He wished now that he’d taken the offer and fled. Ran far and fast away in the hopes that being off the world would be enough to discourage Dream.

But now Wilbur was dead, the day by the pen, the evening where Techno said goodbye, those were his last treasured memories of his brother, the last few times Wilbur’s true personality had peaked through the storm consuming him from within. 

Now it was all gone and the stench of blood ripped through his senses as Techno stood stock still at the edge of the pit, staring into its gorey depths.

His herd had all been slaughtered, their bodies stripped of edible meat and leather in the same way his base had been stripped of its useful items. The remains left to rot in the sun without any care for their dignity. Techno knew that the cows had been bred for slaughter, to be killed for their meat and leather, but he had taken care of them, fed them, treated injuries and helped birth new calves. To see them slain so callously, without even bothering to use and honor every piece of the animal as he had done, hurt him to his core.

It also made him furious. 

He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the L’Manbergian’s had done this, they had killed his cows. This was his “retribution” for his “betrayal”. This was punishment for the damage he’d caused while under another’s control. Although even he had to admit that their blind dedication to their country and its politics was sickening. The government had caused them nothing but pain, had caused Tommy nothing but pain. From the moment of its conception to Wilbur blowing it all sky high, the government of L’Manberg had been a leech on its people. Sucking them steadily dry.

Governments tended to do that, he knew that fact better than anyone. Absolute power corrupts absolutely and it had never been so obvious as it was now as he stood fetlock deep in blood drenched mud. The blood of innocent animals who had been ruthlessly culled, simply because they had been owned by _him_.

He glared at a murky puddle a few feet away, the pale snaking shape of an intestine curled through it, spilled from the cage of ribs of a corpse that laid a few feet further on. He felt lost in his own thoughts, anger and sadness warring inside his head seeping into the cracks of his brain and stinking of despair.

What was he supposed to do in the face of such senseless hate and cruelty? What would he even be allowed to do? He’d never been so completely alone as far back as he could remember. He couldn't remember the Nether very well, that distant and violent childhood Phil had scooped him up from. All he had known was a life where his family was at his side, or at least a simple comm message away.

But now one brother was dead, and another surely hated his guts.

Now his father had killed his brother for his crimes against L’Manberg and was surely hunting Techno as well, ready to meet out punishment with his sword.

_Technolost?_

He jerked and spun around violently, snapped from his thoughts by the small and quiet voice. He did a full three sixty, searching every nook and cranny for whoever had spoken, whoever was watching him. His ears pricked and searching for the sound of someone shifting or breathing in his near vicinity. 

Instead of the sound of a person however he instead heard a low moo. He froze, body standing still and tall like a dog that had just caught a scent, his head tilted slightly as he reached for that sound again. 

Another low moo reached his ears and he whipped around and began to move in the direction it had come from, each step slow and deliberate so as not to create too much noise. 

Just when the silence had extended for too long and Techno began to wonder if he’d just heard a wild cow that had happened to wander by, or his mind was playing tricks on him he heard it again, this time louder. He adjusted his course slightly, aiming for a corner of the sinkhole that was covered partially by an earthy overhang. As he approached it he heard another moo, this time distinctly calling out as if its owner had heard him. He picked up his pace a little and when he reached the edge he noticed something. Tree roots from some long gone oak held up the overhand and dug into the ground of the wall on this side, keeping the dirt from falling into the sinkhole like everything else. They formed honeycomb patterns on the wall, with grass and ferns sprouting stubbornly out from between them. 

Amidst this foliage he could now see a crevasse, a weak point in the wall where the earth between the roots had crumbled away to show a sunken cave. 

And in that cave a young heifer looked up at him with warm brown eyes and loed happily. 

“A survivor,” he whispered, a smile curling his lips as he dug his hands into the roots surrounding the tiny hole and pulling them apart, making it wider. He could see now that the young cow must have likely been shoved into the hole in the panic of the slaughter. It had been too tight and there was a steep drop that she likely had been unable to climb. She’d been trapped in here and it had likely saved her life. 

He crooned senseless words as he pulled out a shovel and began to make a shallow ramp for her to use in her escape. He’d barely finished when she bolted up it immediately, hooves scrambling on the soft dirt as she shot from her little haven and into his side, pressing her head into his flank as if thanking him profusely for her rescue. 

He smiled softly and rubbed her velvety ears, scanning her body for any cuts or injuries. Besides a heavy coating of dirt and some splatters of dried blood that looked like they might have come from other sources, she looked fairly healthy. Happy to be free for sure, but overall uninjured. He opened his inventory and plucked a lead from it, tying it into a makeshift halter around her head. 

“Come on little one, let's get you out of here,” he murmured, stroking a hand down her flank. She gave a short little moo of agreement and trotted happily after him as he led her to one of the cow pit walls and began to dig another ramp up and out for her. This was a bit of a steeper incline than the one in the hole and it took some doing to dig something out that was shallow enough for her to climb. Even then he found himself braced against her haunches as she struggled to gain traction on the soft and crumbly earth. It was only with him pushing and clucking at her incessantly that he managed to get her up the hill and finally out of the pit onto green unbloodied grass.

She gave a happy little groan and dropped to the ground immediately, rolling the fragrant stems and wiggling joyfully. He smiled, glad to see her so happy when he heard the crack of a breaking twig. He looked up and spotted one of the last people he wanted to see right now standing at the treeline.

His wings were half spread and his dark coat flapped in the breeze. He looked slightly older than last time Techno had seen him, lines were now carved deep beneath the bruised purple bags under his eyes and his normally piercing blue gaze looked hazy and greyed. 

Even the glittering panes of glass that made up his primary feathers looked muted. The normally vibrant colors drained and dull. Philza looked tired and there might as well have been an ocean between them and not a scant few feet. Techno had never felt so far away from his father before now.

Techno tensed, jerking on the lead and pulling his cow to her feet, shifting his stance so he could bolt the instant Philza moved. He’d survived this long avoiding his pursuers, he was sure he could lose Philza as well. He didn't want to contemplate the fact that he was leading a barely year old heifer around, or that Philza’s ability to track prey was legendary. Not even Bad could compare to the almost inhuman way Philza picked up and held onto a trail. 

Techno also knew he could beat Philza in a fight, but that would be a last resort. He didn't want to fight his father.

~~He didn't want to kill him.~~

“Techno,” Philza’s voice cut through Techno’s thoughts and he tensed, fingers clenching so hard around the lead his knuckles went from red to blanched white in an instant. Philza likely saw the tension in his body, the way he was coiled to run and raised his hands, folding his wings firmly to his back.

“Techno I’m not here to fight you,” he whispered softly, as if trying to coax a spooked animal. Techno snorted, tossing his head. 

“Oh, so you just want me to _willingly_ walk back to L’Manberg? What? Are they going to give me a trial before you shove a sword through my chest,” he spat, voice dripping with vitriol. He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, especially when Philza flinched as though he’d been struck, his eyes becoming even more glassy as they drifted to ground. 

Philza seemed to take a few steadying breaths, his wings trembling slightly before he dared to meet Techno’s fierce red gaze again, his own eyes filled with grief.

“Techno… _please_. I don't want to fight you and I’m not taking you back to L’Manberg.” He took a step forward and Techno was so busy digesting those words that he didn’t react. Philza took another two steps before Techno tensed to run again and he stopped.

“So you're just going to execute me here?” he asked, there was still a bladed edge to his tone, knives hidden in each word. But there was a note of fear and resignation that he hated. He didn't want to expose any weakness. Not now, not here. 

“ _NO_ ,” Philza gripped his robe with one fist, clenching it over his heart as if Techno had stabbed him. The shout made Techno flinch and Phil took another step forward, his voice shifting to pleading, “ _No_ Techno I-I would never.”

Techno’s breathing hitched, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. 

"Then what do you _want_ ? Why are you _here_?" His voice was slipping, it sounded like he was begging and he was starting to care less and less. He just wanted to understand, he just wanted to feel safe again.

"I'm here because you're my son," Philza’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Techno registers that the man has gotten even closer, close enough that he could reach out and brush Techno with a wing. When did that happen?

"I'm here because you and Wilbur messaged me and it made me concerned so I came to make sure my sons were okay." Philza’s eyes slid shut and he flinched, hands clenching. "I came too late. I came too late and I was too weak. I let one son use me as an instrument in his own suicide. I killed the very child I came to protect. Another son sits in L’Manberg, traumatized and terrified. But my third son? He vanished into the unknown and I was afraid I might have lost him as well," Tears spill over Techno's cheeks and he is unable to fully bite down the sob that escapes him at Philza’s words. He remains still, his arms lax by his sides as Philza takes another two steps closer. 

"I had to run," he finds the words spilling from his mouth, gushing like blood from an open wound. "They would have killed me, they called me a traitor and… and they aren't one hundred percent wrong either."

"Techno," Philza steps finally into his personal space, an arm reached out and fingers ghosting over Techno’s sleeve. When he doesn’t flinch away or raise his weapon Philza lifts his wings and arcs them forward to surround the two of them, blocking out the world behind a wall of feathers. His hands wrap around Techno’s biceps, firm and grounding and the pink haired man finds himself exhaling shakily, releasing a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Techno, I wont say I understand why you did what you did, nor will I say that I approve,” Phil’s voice is soft but Techno still flinches, gaze fixed on the grass beneath their feet, one of his hoofs scuffing absently at the dirt. “But you are also my son and I… I want nothing more than your safety.”

“I killed them all, I sicced withers on them,” he growls, defensively. Maybe Philza has forgotten his sins, has forgotten why he was running and hunted in the first place. 

“And they used you as if your own ideals weren’t obvious from the beginning. From before they even called you here to help them,” The words sucked any energy Techno had left. The lead slipped from his fingers and his knees wobbled, Philza’s grip on him going from a gentle press to the only thing keeping him upright.

Where had he gone wrong? Where had he changed so much that even his own father thought that what he’d done to L’Manberg was in character for him? That he would turn on his own brothers just because they were forming a government in front of him?

“I'm tired Phil,” he whispered and sagged forward, feeling his father's arms and false feathers press into his shoulders.

“Just rest Techno,” Philza’s fingers lifted and passed through his hair as he dropped his head into the other man’s shoulder. “Just rest.”

Techno sighed gently, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. His heart was ice cold and he wasn't sure if it was just Dream’s lingering control any more. He was tired of running, of being hunted and feeling like he was just inches away from falling into a trap. He just... He just wanted to feel _stable_ and _secure_. 

He sagged further into his father’s side and decided that he could let his guard down… just for a little while.

\---------------------

Techno woke abruptly but managed to force his body to remain still. He slowed his breathing back down, mimicking the steady rise and fall of a sleeping person. 

He stayed like that for a while, not reacting at all when he heard the tinkle of a sword being summoned from someone's inventory. Nor when he caught a hint of a new scent on the breeze. When he was sure that his initial start at waking hadn't drawn any attention he slowly opened one eye, shifting slightly so a curtain of pink hair shaded it from an outsider's view.

The campsite he and Phil had built was cast in the pale cold glow of the moon. The grass and trees beyond painted in deep shades of blue and purple with true blacks providing contrast to the silvery glow. The pink of his hair was drained largely of its color by the cold light but through it he could still make out the scene in front of him. 

Philza was still seated, but a netherite sword _Wilbur’s netherite sword_ was laid across his lap, the blade glinting with the same metallic sharpness as his feathers. His eyes were turned toward the treeline, where a dark figure lurked eyes glowing with a pale white light.

“Bad,” Philza said smoothly, “Out for a late night walk?”

“Philza,” Unlike his father Bad’s voice was tense, his head tilted down as if he was trying to avoid eye contact, his body turned slightly away so he wasn't facing Philza directly. It was almost like he was trying to approach an aggressive animal, to appear as non-threatening as possible. 

“Do you need something, mate?” Philza’s voice was cheerful and it cut like a honed war blade. Both Techno and Bad twitched at the tone. 

“Philza, we need to take him back to L’Manberg. He needs to stand trial for what he’s done,” Bad spoke gently, his voice low and soft. He was soothing the beast before him and trying to avoid waking the other beast that slumbered. ~~_Unaware that the beast was awake._ ~~

Techno tensed, his hand fisting the blankets of the bedroll until his knuckles ached. It took every ounce of willpower he had to remain still and keep his breathing even, although it was slightly faster than the average sleeping persons. Part of him wanted to jump up and attack, to preempt the threat with his crossbow or sword.

But he needed to see how this played out. He needed to see what his father said.

“"We"?” Philza’s voice was playful, and bright as a freshly polished dagger, “I don't recall there being a _we_.”

“Then let me secure him. You just have to stand back. He’s a wanted man, Philza,” Bad’s voice had gained some teeth and he took a few steps forward, his hand drifting to his side as red magic sparked to life around his fingers, preparing to summon something into his grasp. 

Philza chuckled and rocked back before springing to his feet, shaking his wings out beside him. The stained glass pinions glowed faintly in the night, spinning with a rainbow of shades even with the tips cleanly sliced off. 

“Bad, if you come one step closer then I'm going to open a smile across your throat to mirror the one on Dream's mask. If you go back to L’Manberg and tell them about where we are at, I will hunt you down and rip your throat open to extract your tongue or turn your little blue friend into a _pincushion_ and make you _watch_ . If you threaten either of my sons in any way, I will teach you why one of my titles is _The Angel of Death_ ,” Philza spun the blade smoothly in his hand, his tone and posture lazy. He looked relaxed in his body, as if nothing mattered here in this moment and he wasn't threatening Bad with a slow and painful demise. 

Techno knew that it was a facade. It was a game he’d seen played many times over. More than a few combatants had fallen for Philza’s faux ease, had rushed in for the obvious opening and gotten themselves _slaughtered_. Philza might appear non-threatening, but right now he was a serpent on the verge of striking.

Bad clearly saw it too. He froze, the red around his fingers brightening as though he desperately wanted to summon his sword to now merely to defend himself. He faced Philza fully now, but instead of trying to calm the beast before him, he was watching for an attack, fear evident on his dark face. 

The two were in standoff for a long breathless second, watching each other sharply, waiting for someone to make the first move. To attack or retreat.

The glow dimmed around Bad’s fingers and he took a step back into the treeline.

“I hope you dont regret this Philza,” Bad whispered before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the trees. Philza remained standing, watching where Bad had been for a long, long time, the tip of his sword digging into the dirt. 

When he was satisfied that Bad was truly gone, he flopped back onto the ground with a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair much in the same manner Wil used to do. Techno’s heart panged at the sight. 

Then Philza turned to look at him and Techno snapped his eye shut again, slowing his breath and feigning sleep. The stillness was long, only the sounds of night creatures and mobs moving through the woods beyond breaking the silence.

“They won't touch you,” Philza whispered, “I won't let them take you from me too.”

Techno didn't react, but inside him something unclenched. He found himself sinking back into the warm black waters of sleep and this time he felt truly safe.

  
  


\-------------

When the dawn broke over the horizon it broke over Phil and Techno packing up the makeshift campsite. Philza did not mention their nighttime visitor and Techno didn't ask. 

The newly named Bob loed from where she was nestled in the grass, a demand for attention. Techno reached down and rubbed his hand along her cheek, scratching under her jaw. Her long lashed eyes fluttered closed as an expression of simple bliss crossed her face. The affection was something she clearly enjoyed and the night above ground rolling in the grass had helped clean some of the mud and gore off of her spotted flanks. She looked better in the light of dawn and Techno felt relieved at that.

“So what's your plan now?” Philza asked from behind him. Techno looked over his shoulder at his father and rose to his feet. At his full height he was much taller than Philza but under his dad's intimidating blue gaze he felt like a small child again. He hadn't thought much about a plan beyond escape and survive. Taking a deep breath he looked across the field eyes distant.

“I need to escape,” he said softly, and he heard Philza shift. 

“Why?” and Techno tensed. 

_Don't tell anyone what has happened, don't tell anyone about the orders, don't tell anyone about me, don't tell anyone about us, don't speak of this at all._

“I-I” he choked, swallowing frantically around the lump in his throat. “I just need to get away, from here, from this place.”

“You could go home,” Philza said quietly, tentatively. “You could go back to my world.”

Distance wouldn’t help, he knew that better than anyone, but he still held hope in his chest that if he escaped the server then maybe he wouldn't be able to return, even if ordered. Maybe being on another world would shield him from Dream’s influence. 

“I..I think I would like that,” he said softly. Philza smiled and stepped closer, brushing a wing across his shoulders. 

“Then let's get you home safe,” He smiled, “I know where the hub portal is.” 

Techno nodded and stood, rolling his shoulders and grabbing Bob’s lead. 

“Lead the way,” he gestured and the two men walked into the forest. The trees and greenery swallowed them whole. 

The trip took most of the day, but luckily Pogtopia and Techno’s base weren’t too far from the more central part of the world and by virtue of that, the Hub portal. 

With the branching of the worlds from the first one, the landscape of worlds changed. The Hub became the name for the first world, the central one where the most Players lived. While young Admins could change the foundations of the Hub, many wanted to stretch their wings so to say. They wanted to create something bigger.

But many had families still on the Hub. Oftentimes groups that left to create worlds were trapped on those worlds, unable to travel back to the Hub once they left. Many people worked long and hard, many Admins spent their entire lives researching ways to open paths to the other worlds. 

In the end, it was the first Players creation, the Nether portal, that gave them their source material. From it they derived interworld portals, physical structures made of solid aether that only an admin could forge. Oftentimes the portals were the last thing an admin would create when forging a world, drawing all of the spare Aether that was still thick in the air from the creation of the world into a physical being and creating the Hub portal.

The portal's only restriction was that they all could only connect to the Hub, not directly to another world. But in the end it mattered little to most people. The Admins could go and create and people could still visit friends and family on other worlds. 

Stepping through the patchwork wall Techno felt the physical weight of aether thick in the air as he and Phil looked upon the portal. It was almost exactly like a Nether portal, four across and five tall, but instead it was built entirely of a white crystal material that was thickly inscribed with enchanting runes. What exactly they said had been largely lost to time but their power still rang true.

He stepped up to the portal and searched its sides until finally he found it. 

His name.

People called it the Whitelist. On certain servers the portal was closed and the only way to enter the world was for an admin to inscribe your name onto the Whitelist. Only then would you be able to set foot on their world. 

Dream’s world was a Whitelist world, Technoblade’s name was carved onto the portal's frame, just like Tommy’s and Wilburs and Philza’s. All of them had been granted access to this place by Dream.

It had been a long time since that had felt like an honor to him.

“The portal’s not active,” Philza hummed, fingers running over the runes. Techno turned to look at him curiously. 

“It's a White Portal isn't it? That means it's not always active.” A sudden thought chilled him, “Do we need Dream’s help to activate it?”

“No, the portals aren't made to be prison doors. They can keep people out of the world but they can't force people to stay in it. The early Admins made them that way specifically. They didn't want anyone power hungry to lure people to their world and then lock them there,” Philza mumbled, frowning over the runes. 

“There's a first time for everything,” Techno returned but stepped away from the portal, watching as Philza inspected it all over. His dad's focus was single minded and the hours passed slowly as the sun arced over head, dipping towards the horizon. But as time passed Techno grew more and more tense, pacing back and forth as he watched Philza’s movements grow more and more frantic. 

The sun was setting when Techno stopped, and stood still.

“Philza,” he said softly.

“These runes here are different but I can just put energy here-,” Philza started, wings fluttering.

“Philza-” 

“-It's not the normal structure but it's a Hub Portal. You don't mess with those too much, they're _delicate-_ ”

“ _Phil-_ ” 

“-If I can just find out where the energy is different, how it's powered then…”

“ _DAD_!” Philza froze then his wings sagged.

“There's two Whitelists,” he whispered and Techno closed his eyes.

“Two?” If he was quiet enough maybe he could avoid the answer. 

“One is for people incoming, and the other-” Philza swallowed, “It looks like Dream has reversed the Whilelist so that it blocks people from leaving it… it shouldn't be possible.”

“It's Dream,” Techno said, eyes squeezed shut, “He’s known for making the impossible possible.”

Philza didn't reply for a long time.

“The only names on the second list are George, Sapnap, Bad and Sam… no one else. Everyone else on the server is not Whitelisted. They’re stuck.” Philza whispered, a quiet horror growing in his voice. Techno couldn't stop the bitter laugh that bubbled up from his throat.

“We’re trapped here. We can't leave Dream’s server,” Techno snorted, blinking away tears. 

Well there went that avenue of escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHGG
> 
> Sorry sorry this chapter is so late, i have to drive two hours to and from my new job currently and probably wont get into a new apartment until the end of march. So free time is in short supply currently lol.
> 
> BUT ITS DONE starting to introduce Philza and transition into the retirement arc. Fun times are had by all the game.  
> Also snuck in some world building because i cant help myself lol
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented, we are almost at 10k hits!!! thats fucking crazy man, you guys are great. I know i suck at responding to comments but i read and reread every single one and love them <3
> 
> As always much love to Feliadox my beloved beta who is just as busy as me and still working to translate my bullshit into a lovely fic. Also joining the team is my friend Merry who i asked to read the first chapter eons ago and popped in three days ago to cover my draft in pink commentary. 
> 
> Im always in the lavender tea server connected to Exceed's Snapshots in Lavender so if anyone wants to find me there lmao go read that amazing fic. But do you guys want me to make a twitter or something? IDK i might be better about responding to things on another platform.
> 
> enjoy guys!


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